100 Days of NorIce
by Variegata
Summary: 100 different stories all focused on the pairing NorIce. Because these two need more love. Prompt 24- Rebirth: Eiríkur smiled, "Forever." He whispered. The amount of adoration in the look Lukas gave him was immeasurable. Lukas took a deep breath…
1. Perfection

**100 Days of NorIce**

**Prompt 47- Perfection**

* * *

_PERFECTION (noun):__ 1. The condition, state or quality of being free or as free as possible from all flaws or defects.  
2. A person or thing perceived as the embodiment of such a condition, state or quality._

* * *

"Stop. Just…please, just stop."

Lukas Bondevík raised his head slowly to look at his younger brother. Eiríkur's lilac eyes caught his own deep blue ones, and they stared at each other for the longest of moments. His brother's silver hair fell messily down his pale face, uncombed, and Lukas could detect the last dregs of sleep still clinging onto Eiríkur. It was very early morning, the pale sun barely shining through the partly opened curtains in Lukas' bedroom.

The younger of the two's hand was still wrapped around the elder's wrist, but not tight. Lukas was too thin, too _fragile_, and it stabbed Eiríkur in his heart to see his beloved brother like…like _this_.

Through Lukas' thin t-shirt, Eiríkur could see each and every one of his brother's ribs. The blond's hips stuck out, only the drawstring of his pyjama trousers keeping them on. It was so _wrong_. Lukas was supposed to be strong, like an immovable rock, the better of the two. Instead, he was so underweight he could have been a skeleton with skin pulled taught across it and stitched up roughly at the back. It was _awful_, it was _horrific_, it was so, so _wrong_.

"Look at you!" Eiríkur sort of whisper-shouted, desperation clinging to his words as they dribbled in the still air. "You can't do this, Lukas. Please. Not to me."

"Do what?" Lukas asked dully, as though he didn't know, as if he didn't see the problem.

"You're killing yourself! Starving to death! Why? Lukas, tell me why!"

Tears were now budding at the edges of Eiríkur's eyes, and he looked desperately at his brother. Large lilac eyes pleaded for an explanation, a _why_ to tell him the reason his beloved had this problem. Why his _beautiful, beautiful_ brother had developed this disorder. There had been no obvious signs, but Lukas was a good liar, a good faker and if Eiríkur hadn't caught a glimpse of his brother's bare chest (with his ribs sticking out like daggers) through a partly open bedroom door late last night, he still wouldn't have known that something was wrong.

Lukas didn't answer, and Eiríkur knelt down on the bed next to him. His hands trailed up Lukas' arms to his shoulders where the younger held him securely. "Please, Luk- please _storebror_, I don't want to lose you. You need _help_, bror… _please_, just tell me what's wrong."

"There is nothing wrong." Lukas intoned, sounding flat and emotionless.

"Já, there is! Look at yourself, Lukas! You can't tell me that you're fine."

"I am fine! I just need to lose some weight, I need to be _perfect_ for you, lillebror, otherwi-" Here, Lukas cut himself off, not daring to say the deep reason for his need for perfection- _otherwise you will never want me_.

"What? You don't need to do that, Lukas! You're fine just the way you are, Ég _elska þig_ just the way you are-" Eiríkur silenced himself here. If Lukas found out about his feelings, ones that definitely went beyond_ brotherly love_, then he would reject him. Eiríkur was sure that he would be disgusted. To find out that your _younger brother_ liked you in _that way_…

"You what?" Lukas queried, lowering his voice into a whisper. The elder desperately tried not to let hope infect his tone.

This was it. It was all over. Lukas would never be able to look at him in the same way ever again. Eiríkur swallowed, his throat feeling dry. "I-I said, '_Ég_ _elska þig_ _just the way you are'_…" His heart pounded in his ears. Eiríkur closed his eyes, not wanting to see the look of disgust appear on Lukas' face.

A pair of cold lips pressed gently against his.

Eiríkur's eyes flew open and he gasped into the…_kiss?_

Seeing his brother's reaction and thinking with a sinking heart that he might have been wrong, Lukas started to pull away, savouring the last lingering sweet tastes of cinnamon and liquorice on his lips. Only to have a hand press itself against the back of his head and entangle the attached fingers into his golden blond hair. He was pulled back into the kiss.

It was deeper this time, more meaningful. A pink blush dusted across Lukas' face as he took control, using his height to his advantage in getting his brother to submit to him. Both of their eyes were now closed, letting their mouths do the work. Lukas' hands were now cupping Eiríkur's face and twisting his silver hair in his fingers. The elder was kneeling up while the younger had slid back off his knees, sitting on the bed and clutching Lukas' shirt in an attempt to stay upright, lost in the passionate kiss.

Finally, they parted, the need for air overcoming them. Lukas took in his brother's flushed face and parted pink lips with a thrill of satisfaction. Eiríkur blushed harder at the swirling emotion in Lukas' heady gaze. The silver haired teen hesitantly trailed his hand across Lukas' ribs. "Will you stop, now?" he asked quietly. "There is no need for perfection, É-Ég elska þig a-anyway."

"Jeg elsker deg også. I was too scared before, certain that you would not want me. That you would look at me every day with contempt in your eyes. That I was not good enough for you. I would not have been able to live with that." Lukas sighed, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Eiríkur's forehead. "I will stop. It will be hard, very hard, but-"

"We'll work through this together." Eiríkur completed for him, wrapping his arms around his older brother in a gentle hug. Lukas swept down for another kiss.

* * *

**Right. So...that's the first installment over with. The romance scenes will not get any more graphic than this, just to warn everyone. If you are looking for lemons or smut, you won't find it here. This is also the first story I have posted on here for a very long time, so I hope that it will be well recieved.****I can't promise to update everyday, despite this being a 100 Days Challenge, but I will post as often as possible.**

**As for the story itself...there needs to be more NorIce in the world and I wanted to see what I could do with it. After all, if you can't find the story you want to read, then you just going to have to write it yourself! In my headcanon, Norway doesn't abbrieviate words, so 'wasn't' becomes 'was not'. That is why he speaks that way.**

**Also, my human names for Iceland and Norway are Eiríkur Steilsson and Lukas Bondevík, so that is what they will be called in my stories. The idea for 'Perfection' was that it was a Human!AU, and Lukas was so obsessed with being 'perfect' for his brother that he developed an eating disorder. Which eventually ended with the two of them getting together. That's this installment. Iceland calls Norway 'storebror' because that's 'big brother' in Norwegian. Norwegian instead of Icelandic because if it's in Lukas' native tongue he is more likely to listen.**

**Read and Review, please!**

**~Variegata~ **


	2. Forgotten

**100 Days of NorIce**

**Prompt 35- Forgotten  
**

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_FORGOTTEN (past participle of FORGET, verb):__ 1. Failure to remember.  
2. Inadvertently neglect to attend to, do, or mention something._

* * *

"I'm sorry…"

"Do not be, it is not your fault."

"But-"

"It is not your fault, calm yourself. We will work through this."

Eiríkur Steilsson (he had been told that was his name) looked up at the strange blond man with deep blue eyes he had been told was his brother. Lukas Bondevík- why didn't they share surnames? - looked back down at him. Eiríkur felt that he could drown in those eyes.

The silver haired teen broke the gaze, his heart doing strange somersaults and his insides twisting in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Lukas wrapped a cool arm around his shoulders, pulling up a cloth bag of (apparently) his clothes.

"Get changed," his older brother murmured. Eiríkur glanced up at him, a shiver running down his spine at Lukas' smooth voice. "I need to go and talk to the doctor."

Eiríkur nodded, and Lukas strided gracefully out of the room. Taking the bag, Eiríkur pulled out a pair of reddish brown slacks and a white dress shirt, undergarments and a pair of white half laced boots that by their size he estimates will come up to his knee. He quickly changed out of the hospital gown, glad to have it off. The clothes are comfortable and well worn- they seem to fit him perfectly, too perfectly. _Are these tailor-made?_ Eiríkur wondered.

The door opened and the doctor walked back in, clipboard in hand. Lukas was right behind him. Eiríkur stared blankly at them, wishing beyond anything that there was more than just this empty spot in his head, weighing him down. The doctor barely looked at him, going instead to the end of the bed where he had draped the hospital gown and looking at the chart hooked onto it. Lukas moved to stand beside Eiríkur.

The doctor dully read out what was in his notes, clearly wanting to get back to whatever he was doing before (considering it was fairly late at night when he finally woke up, Eiríkur thought that the doctor just wanted to go home).

"Patient: Eiríkur Steilsson, born 17th June (no year stated), hair colour: silver, eye colour: purple, male, relatives: one brother, Lukas Bondevík. Patient has Retrograde Amnesia, the inability to remember events before a certain time, due to unknown head trauma that only the patient knows of and cannot conveniently remember."

The doctor looked up to meet Lukas' cold glare, and hastily read on, his sarcasm unappreciated.

"Patient has no memory or recollection of his life before this unknown incident which left him in a coma for three days." The doctor looked back up and added his own comment. "Because said patient only woke up a few hours ago, his only memories so far are the ones he has made since then. Be aware that because of this he may have difficulty learning new information and that he will have difficulties envisioning the future, because what we imagine the future to be is closely linked with past experiences- which the patient has no recollection of."

Lukas nodded in understanding and the doctor shuffled off after giving them the clearance to leave, calling back over his shoulder that they would need to schedule an appointment soon to see if Eiríkur's memory had improved any.

Now the amnesic teen was left alone in a room with a brother he didn't remember and a name attached to him that wasn't familiar.

Lukas held out a reddish brown, almost military jacket that matched his trousers. Eiríkur silently slipped it on, unsure of what to say. What did one say to a family member they couldn't recall? To one he had supposedly known all his life, and frustratingly didn't remember a single detail about? He knew that he was his older brother and that his name was Lukas Bondevík. That was it.

"You did not put on your ribbon tie."

The lilac eyed boy blinked, confused. "Huh?"

Lukas rummaged in the bag, pulling out a length of white cloth that the teen hadn't noticed before. Eiríkur obligingly held still as the elder tied it around his neck, under his collar. He was too busy trying not to think of the handsome face so close to his and the soft breath fluttering over his cheeks. Nimble fingers tied the bow quickly, and Lukas pulled back, smirking almost imperceptibly at the pink flush scattered on his young lover's face.

Even if his lillebror couldn't remember him, the feelings had remained.

This cut into Norway's heart a bit. Before it was replaced with silent conviction. They _would _make it through this. He would make sure that Iceland remembered him, that he was not a human, but a nation. That Norway would _always, always_ be there for him. That Iceland would remember all the small things, from the light hearted mornings, to the cosy evenings, from the trips and days out they had taken together, to the times when they just stayed in and read.

"Come, let us go home."

Iceland followed him out to his car, sitting down in the passenger seat and examining the unfamiliar interior. Norway slid into the driver's seat and closed the door against the cool night air. Iceland remained quiet while Norway drove to his house. The journey was achingly long, both wanting to start a conversation, but unsure of what to say.

Norway pulled into his driveway.

"You live here?" Iceland asked him, staring up at the huge manor house. Were they…_rich_?

"_We_ live here." Norway corrected. This was not entirely true, they each lived in their own countries. However, Iceland often stayed here for long periods of time when he was required for meetings as Norway was geographically a lot easier to reach for international politics than Iceland.

Norway could feel his innocent brother's gaze on him as he unlocked the door. It would be day break in a few hours, and the rest of the Nordics would then be calling him up again for news on their youngest member. Norway decided to worry about that in the morning.

"Come, follow me."

Lukas led him up a grand staircase and into a large, beautifully furnished bedroom, with a huge double bed.

Eiríkur took the offered pyjamas, changing. While he did so, his skin tingled under the weight of Lukas' stare, but he didn't dare force his older brother to look away. He didn't know the boundaries he could push. He folded up the barely worn clothes neatly and placed them on a chair for tomorrow. As he was doing this, he didn't notice Lukas changing also, although the elder forwent the pyjama shirt.

Eiríkur crawled into the double bed, not noticing that his brother had never left the room. As he curled up under the duvet, a weight sunk down the mattress next to him. Cool arms encircled him in a protective embrace and he was pulled into a firm bare chest. A face nuzzled into his neck and warm breaths tickled his collarbone. Eiríkur's face went bright red.

A low purring voice, like velvet, came from the warm darkness of the room.

"Sleep with me tonight, _lillebror_."

* * *

**The second installment of 100 Days of NorIce is here! Just like the previous one, it's somewhat angsty. But, and I'm sure many people will agree, it is often very hard to write light-hearted fics when you can write Hurt/Comfort and Angst ones. However, I will endeavor to make sure that at least some of these posts are fluffy rather than angsty.**

**Quick word of thanks to my guest reviewer Smileey for taking the time to comment, and to Arisa-chan 97 for both adding my story to her favourites list and putting it on Story Alert.**

**The idea for 'Forgotten' is that Iceland has gotten himself into some sort of incident (whether it was accidental or some sort of attack I'll let you decide) and he sustained some amount of head trauma which has caused him to develop amnesia. Found by a human and taken to a hospital, they then identify him and contact his nearest relative (Norway).**

**At the moment, Iceland is under the impression that he and his whole family are human (why would he think anything different?) and then Norway (both his brother and pre-established lover) has to deal with the fallout of Iceland not only not remembering his entire life, but also his relationship with him. It sounds quite angsty, but I think this is more of a Hurt/Comfort and Family fic- along with the plot of having to fall in love with Lukas _all over again_.**

**I know that amnesia is a common plot twist, but I tried to make it realistic and do the idea justice.**

**Read and Review, please!**

**~Variegata~**


	3. Innocence

**100 Days of NorIce**

**Prompt 97- Innocence  
**

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_INNOCENCE (noun):__ 1. A freedom from guilt or sin through being unacquainted with evil: blamelessness.  
2. Chastity.  
3. Freedom from legal guilt of a particular crime or offense.  
4. (a) Freedom from guile or cunning: simplicity.  
(b) Lack of worldly experience or sophistication.  
5. Lack of knowledge: ignorance._

* * *

"Noregur?"

Norway had been awake the moment some soft taps had echoed on his bedroom door. He sat up in his large bed and ran a hand through his hair, sweeping it back so that the fringe which he kept pinned back with his cross barrette in the daytime wasn't in his face. His clock read 2:16 a.m. After giving no reply, the door had opened slightly, dragging on the soft carpet, and allowing his younger brother's face to peek around the dark wood.

Norway clambered out of bed and crossed the room, opening the door fully to reveal Iceland standing outside in just pyjama bottoms, the dim shadows splaying across his lithe chest. Externally, Norway showed to reaction to this, acting as if it was normal for a half-naked younger brother to show up outside his bedroom door in the early hours of the morning.

Internally, his deep blue eyes, like the treacherous depths of the seas he used to sail over, were mapping out his clueless brother's chest in an almost desperate way. It made a warm fire burst to life inside his chest at the same time as a roll of disgust ran through his mind. He shouldn't be thinking of his _younger brother_ in this way.

But he just couldn't help it.

"Noregur?"

"Is something the matter, lillebror?" Norway had purposefully added _lillebror_ onto the end of his question, in a sort of vain hope that it would quench the fire inside his chest. Instead, it seemed to make it roar harder. Norway had heard that forbidden love was the most desirable of them all, and it seemed that that statement was not wrong, for this taboo feeling from one brother to another just seemed so…_intoxicating_.

"I-I just had a bad dream…" It must have killed Iceland's pride to say that, let alone seek out comfort from another person. He was always so determined to prove that he could make it on his own. "Can-can I sleep with you tonight?"

Norway inhaled sharply. Iceland _did not_ mean it like _that_, he reminded himself firmly. "Come on in." he said, moving aside so Iceland could step into his room.

The silver haired nation moved to the bed while Norway shut the door, both clambering in to escape the cool air of the house and get back into the warm confines of the bed. Norway lay down again, firmly keeping his mind from wandering to the acute awareness he had of Iceland being just _centimetres_ from him, in his bed, and half naked, and so _trusting_-

Iceland snuggled into Norway's side, already half-asleep.

The flame in Norway's chest became a raging bonfire. His breath hitched and his skin-especially where Iceland was- tingled, alive with the sensation of his younger brother so close to him. "Góða nótt." Iceland sleepily mumbled into Norway's chest, unaware of his older brother's reaction to his warm breath blowing across his skin.

_Damn it_. Norway cursed as he too settled down to get back to sleep, although this endeavour was probably in vain, he would never be able to sleep with Iceland so close. Iceland was just so…_innocent_. So clueless of the danger he could be in by simply being so close to Norway. His natural shy nature endeared him to those who got to know him, and his hidden passionate side was attractive, too.

Norway knew that he was a possessive person. There were times when he had to restrain himself from physically pulling Iceland away from whoever he was talking to at that time, or push down the feeling to lock Iceland away somewhere that no one could ever hurt him and throw away the key. Or even just letting Iceland leave his house after a visit could try him.

Norway had long been able to disguise this sick forbidden love as being an over-protective older brother, but he just didn't know how long the façade would last before he slipped up. Before he did something he would never be able to undo.

Iceland shuffled in his sleep, his partly open lips coming to rest on Norway's lean chest muscles, and splayed fingers over his older brother's stomach. Norway swallowed heavily, and looked away.

He cursed Iceland's innocence.

* * *

**Hey there again! Yes...this is yet more angst. I'm really sorry that it isn't longer, but I couldn't find a way to make it so. But don't worry, all those people who are sick of angst, I do have a more lighthearted one coming up soon (and then more angst after it...but hey, you can't have it all).**

**A thank-you to StorfenglegurStelpa for taking the time to review as well as favouriting and putting my story on alert, summer164 for reviewing, favouriting and alerting, JustMakeLeftTurns for reviewing, favouriting and alerting- as well as MelzHeartz and OtakuFujoshi for both favouriting and alerting and Harrison642 for putting 100 Days of NorIce on story alert.**

**The idea for 'Innocence' is that Norway is trying to come to terms with the fact that he is in love with his younger brother and Iceland is both completely oblivious and really not helping him by being unintentionally rather seductive. Iceland is 'innocent', he has never gone to war, still has his chastity (in my headcanon of this AU anyway) and has a very possessive ex-Viking brother who both desperately wants to protect that innocence and curses it. Remember, this is just one AU, Iceland might not be so innocent in others (AKA things have happened to him to make him have a fairly pessimistic view of the world). This AU is in my mind very close to canon but I made Iceland more clueless than he is in canon because it fitted this prompt.**

**Possessive!Norway is so fun to write...**

**Read and Review, please!**

**~Variegata~**


	4. Summer Haze

**100 Days of NorIce**

**Prompt 81- Summer Haze**

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_SUMMER (noun): __The warmest season of the year, in the northern hemisphere from June to August and in the southern hemisphere from December to February._

_HAZE (noun):__ 1. Atmospheric moisture, dust, smoke or vapour that diminishes visibility.  
2. A vague or confused state of mind._

* * *

The warm summer sun shone through the lush green canopy and dappled the soft ground marked only by animal trails. There was a pleasant light breeze in the clear mountain air and the sound of bird song echoed through the thick forests of Norway.

"What are we doing here, Noregur?"

The blond nation looked back over his shoulder to his smaller lover, who was struggling up the rocky path behind him. The gurgling and crashing of a small waterfall filled the air along with a fine cool spray of water from their left. The rocks were damp but not slick, and if one was careful then they could climb up. Norway gave a soft smile and Iceland very nearly slipped, but caught himself.

Flushing furiously, Iceland tried to glare at his older brother, but failed when he instead stared at the light that was coming in through the trees behind Norway, and the way the bright spots played across his brother's aristocratic face and through his golden hair, shining off the cross barrette he always wore.

"Is something wrong, lillebror?" There was a definite hint of teasing in that tone. Iceland snapped back into focus, blushing even harder. His natural shy nature quailed in mortification at the idea that Norway had known what he'd just been thinking of.

"Nothing, nothing." The silver haired nation mumbled, striding up the last few steps and pushing past Norway. "You never answered my question. Why are we here?"

"Whoever said that we are here for a reason?"

Iceland glanced over incredulously. "You never do anything without at least a dozen reasons backing up the action!"

"What if I do not have a reason this time?" Norway inquired smoothly, sliding his arms around Iceland from behind, crossing them over his younger brother's lithe chest (which was currently wearing only a pale blue t-shirt- it was too hot out to be wearing anything heavier).

Iceland threw off Norway's arms, stating firmly, "You always have a reason."

Norway pouted internally, but caught up to his little lover quickly as Iceland had picked a random direction and stalked off in annoyance. When Iceland stopped at the base of a small rocky overhanging, Norway crept up behind him, watching his lover for a few minutes as Iceland tiredly breathed hard. Iceland yelped when he was suddenly picked up and slung over his brother's shoulder.

"Wha-? Noregur!"

Iceland struggled against his brother for several minutes before relaxing his muscles and letting Norway take him to…wherever he was taking him. The Icelandic nation was once again reminded of the fact that, despite his lean build, Norway was still very strong. Not that Iceland wasn't strong also (at least when compared to humans), Norway was geographically larger, had a more bloody history, had a larger population, and had fighting experience. This all equalled Norway being physically a lot stronger than him. _Damn it._

When Norway finally set him down on the ground, Iceland was about ready to rip into him about his treatment of other people. He opened his mouth, ready to speak and glared at his older brother through enchanting lilac eyes alive with fury, when Norway just pointed. Sufficiently distracted, Iceland looked to see what Norway was pointing at before thinking the action through and remembering that he was supposed to be mad at his older brother.

The place where Norway had stopped overlooked a large section of mountains and valleys, with a huge blue lake below them. All around Iceland could see numerous waterfalls cascading down into the lake, which undoubtedly flowed out into the sea. The mystical forests and colourful flowers surrounded them, the sun sweeping down and highlighting the whole image with a golden haze.

Iceland had heard many humans describe Norway as a beautiful country- they didn't do him justice.

This time when Norway embraced him from behind and rested his head on the younger nation's shoulder, Iceland didn't throw him off.

"It's beautiful…" he whispered softly, previous anger completely forgotten.

"Is that a compliment?" Norway asked teasingly, ignoring the view in favour of watching Iceland's gorgeous face from the corner of his eyes.

Iceland didn't even bother getting annoyed; instead he turned around suddenly in his lover's arms and hooked his own around Norway's neck, pulling the blond down into a heated kiss.

Norway was initially taken aback, but quickly kissed his little one's soft pink, pouty lips. He ran a tongue across them and gently nibbled Iceland's bottom lip until he was granted entrance. He slid his tongue around the warm cavern, Iceland's delicious taste lingering when he pulled away- to a soft whine from his little one- and blew gently across the face of the beautiful being in his arms.

Iceland's hazy eyes, darkened to a deep violet, looked half-lidded back up at him. His mouth was still partly open, pouty lips clinging onto Norway's sweet and spicy taste (Iceland could never put a name to it, at the time it was sweet and sugary and then a wonderful tangy aftertaste came- it somehow fitted his older brother).

As Norway pressed him up against a tree and ravished his mouth again, Iceland mumbled, "_This_ was your plan all along, wasn't it?"

Norway looked up from trailing his hands across Iceland's bare chest, the smaller nation's t-shirt having disappeared somewhere while he had been occupied with the sensations in his mouth. Norway smirked in a way that made Iceland's insides quiver, and leaned to lick lightly around Iceland's right outer ear's shell, huffing his warm breath onto it. A seductive voice purred into Iceland's ear.

"So what if it was?"

* * *

**Okay, this isn't really traditional fluff, I know. But it is less angsty than the others! Seriously, this took far longer to write than the others. It was like pulling teeth, how difficult it was not to get some angst in there somewhere. But I did it! My first more..._romantic _chapter, because I see Norway as a romantic man- even if he goes about it rather unconventionally. This is also as graphic as it's going to get. **

**A big thank-you to JustMakeLeftTurns and cuzimafreak who took the time to review!**

**The idea for 'Summer Haze' was: one, I had to get a somewhat fluffy chapter in there, and two, the idea is that this is very close to canon- I have tried to keep Iceland and Norway in character as much as possible (because I don't think they could pull off a traditional fluffy scene without some amount of sarcasm or awkwardness in there, they just aren't those types of characters- but it does make the romantic scenes between them all the more sweeter). **

**Norway has taken Iceland on a trip up one of his mountains, near one of his homes (hence why they have no equipment with them, they are very near to safety and likely have not gone that far- at least for a nation- and as nations they are very safe because Norway is in Norway and Iceland isn't going to come to any harm with his older brother there). Norway then shows/forcibly takes Iceland to the top of a cliff where there is an amazing view- and then Iceland shows his appreciation of Norway's sweet actions. Yeah...that's pretty much it...**

**Read and Review, please!**

**~Variegata~**


	5. Mist

**100 Days of NorIce**

**Prompt 37- Mist  
**

* * *

_MIST (noun):__ 1. Water in the form of particles floating or falling in the atmosphere at or near the surface of the Earth and approaching the form of rain.  
2. Something that obscures understanding._

* * *

It had all happened so fast. Norway wouldn't remember much of it later, his memories of that time limited to confusing flashes- too many people, too little people, too many sounds, a deafening silence, too much light, not enough light, screaming, wailing, crying and there is him all jostled up in the midst of it all, a part of his mind not quite comprehending what is going on, and the other knowing exactly what is happening and trying to reject the information.

By the time he is fully aware of his surroundings, he is in a hospital. Someone is talking to him, but their words are not reaching the Nordic. There is the buzz of other people around, background noise. But he wants silence. He wants to be able to _think_. His head feels fuzzy, like someone has stuffed it full of cotton wool and locked him in a swelteringly hot room. His throat is dry, and very sore. He vaguely remembers a voice screaming and calling out… He swallows thickly (a movement which hurts) as he realises it was _his _voice.

"_Island! Island..!"_

"Island…" he mumbles under his breath. His throat hitches, and the room swims in a sickening way as everything becomes sharper, colours seem brighter and everything seems a thousand times louder, deafening him. Norway turns to the nurse that is trying to talk to him. She seems somewhat taken aback at the sudden lucidity of the blond man.

"Where is Eiríkur Steilsson's room?" He demands. His voice could have frozen the world, the nurse thinks, before she catches the question.

"I-I'm sorry, who? Sir, you need to sit down and rest. You had a massive shock and your mind needs time to absorb it-"

"_Where is Eiríkur Steilsson's room? Where is my lillebror?"_

The nurse gulps at the cold, threatening tone. The man's deep blue eyes bore into her, like he can see through to her soul. "R-r-room 182." She stutters, closing her eyes at the sight of the mysterious young man with the soulless eyes and emotionless face, who scares her more than she wants to admit.

When she looks again, the man is gone.

* * *

The door to Room 182 slams open, admitting Norway into its cold, white confines. His eyes are immediately drawn to the hunched figure on the bed.

"Island?"

His lillebror doesn't look up, instead hunching lower, drawing his knees closer to his chest. Iceland looks so pale, so small in the middle of the stark hospital bed, it wrenches at Norway's heart. He moves closer, now standing at the edge of the bed, carefully watching his lillebror's mostly hidden face. Iceland's silver hair hangs down messily, some dirt streaked through it. His posture is defensive, lithe arms curling around his legs and hunching over to hide his face in his knees.

"My Prime Minister's already been in." Iceland says suddenly.

"Have they?" Norway asks, slightly startled by the abrupt statement.

"Já," here Iceland hesitates, before continuing. "They said that we'll get them. That they'll regret ever attacking the Lýðveldið ĺsland."

"They will." Norway says surely, stating it as though it was fact. He _is _sure of it, though. Whoever bombed Reykjavík will be caught, and then they will be tried to the ever most extent of Icelandic law. It was an unprovoked terrorist attack on a mostly neutral nation, one with connections to very powerful ex-Viking nations who would never be so forgiving to someone who would harm one of their own.

Later, the death toll of the attack would reach seven, with over forty injured. A poisonous gas had been in the bomb, but luckily it was a very weak strain- while many were injured, the only ones who died had been in the epicentre of the blast. Unfortunately, while the gas didn't kill anyone, many people's sight was gone, their eyes damaged beyond repair. In Norway's mind, it still didn't change the fact that someone had attacked his _lillebror_, his secret _love interest_, someone who was _his_. Nobody harmed what was _his_.

Norway tugs Iceland's left hand from the right's clutches and holds it. "Do not worry," he murmurs. "We will get them."

Iceland pulls his hand back, now covering his face with both arms. Norway looks down worriedly.

"Island? Lillebror, what is wrong?"

Iceland refuses to respond, moving his arms tighter around to obscure Norway's view of his face. His older brother kneels down on bed in front of him, carefully grasping Iceland's wrists. "Island? Island, look at me."

Iceland gives a soft sound, trying to stifle it, but unable to completely. It was a cross between a whimper and a sob. Norway's heart beats faster. "Island? Island, please…"

"I-I can't!" Iceland cries out.

Norway pauses. "Cannot what?"

Iceland spoke softly, as if afraid to break the tense atmosphere. "Look at you…"

"What?"

"I can't look at you…"

Norway's heart seemed to be trying to leap free of his chest; a horrible cold feeling seemed to be turning his insides into knots. "Why? Am l so much a failure for being unable to protect you that you cannot even look at me? I am sorry, lillebror. I am so, so sorry-"

"Nei!" Iceland nearly shouts, cutting off his brother. "Nei, it's not you, Noregur…never think that _please_."

"Then why..?"

Iceland swallows, and withdraws his face from his arms, looking up at Norway. Nothing appeared to be different, at first. Except that Iceland's eyes were closed.

"I-I can't look at you…because I can't _see_ you."

And with that, Iceland opens his eyes to the horrified Norway, revealing unfocused, misted over, deep lilac orbs now unblemished by pupils, staring sightlessly over Norway's shoulder at nothing.

* * *

**Hello again. Sorry that this was posted later in the day than I wanted it to be, but it's here now. This is the fifth installment of 100 Days of NorIce, 'Mist'! It's back to angst, people! This chapter is also an experiment into using the present tense in a fic- it's harder than it looks!**

**Thank you to JustMakeLeftTurns who reviewed my last chapter, I'm glad you liked it even if fluff isn't really your thing. Also a thank you to OrangeyPie and Painting Politics and Poland for adding 100 Days of NorIce to their Story Alert lists.**

**The concept of 'Mist' is that Norway hasn't revealed that he loves Iceland yet, hence why our favourite silver haired island is still only a secret love interest. It's not really obvious, but Iceland already feels the same way and of course hasn't admitted it yet as well. That is why he is so upset at not being able to see Norway for the forseeable future (wouldn't you be too if you could see his handsome face?), fortunately because they're nations, the damage should heal (but that may take anywhere between a few months to a year).**

**The plot is that a human terroist organisation has attacked Iceland's capital city (I'll let you make up the reason why) while Norway was visiting. Norway reacts. Against the terrorists? Violently.**

**Of course,** '**Lýðveldið ĺsland' means 'Republic of Iceland'.**

**Read and Review, please!**

**~Variegata~**


	6. Game

**100 Days of NorIce**

**Prompt 62- Game**

* * *

_GAME (noun):__ 1. An activity engaged in for diversion or amusement.  
2. An animal that is hunted for either food or sport._

* * *

_**By Decree of His Royal Highness King Jarl Fritjofsson of the Kingdom of Thule, in Honour of the Sacrifice of our Brothers In Arms in the Conquest of this Fair Land, the Royal Family will partake in a Great Honour when the time comes for the Prince or Princess to take the Throne.  
If there is Only One Heir, then they shall show they have the Right to take the Throne by competing in the Annual Fighting Tournament.  
If there is More Than One Heir, then the Heirs will Fight To The Death to prove that the Victor is capable of leading this Great Country.  
By Order of the Royal Court this Decree will be Upheld by Thule Law.  
Year Of Our Lord 2347**_

"One last night."

"Ja…"

Violet eyes burned brightly with rage, disgust and…fear. Lukas slid an arm around his brother's shoulders, pulling him close. They were both lying on the large double bed in Eiríkur's quarters, wrapped in each other's arms for the last time. Eiríkur had already shut the door tight, ordering the guard outside not to disturb them for _anything_.

The two princes shook with repressed emotions, almost unnoticeably, but they were so close, almost one being and could feel everything, including the beating heart of the one in their arms. Tomorrow, one of those heat beats would be silenced forever…

Something inside the younger broke.

"I don't want to…please, this is crazy! How can they expect us to- to do that to each other! All for a _stupid throne!_"

Tears were now dripping down Eiríkur's flushed face, lilac eyes pleading helplessly with his equally helpless older brother. It was wrong; it was so, so wrong. But they didn't have the power to change anything…not yet.

"It is the way it is, lillebror." Lukas pressed a tender kiss to his younger brother's forehead, bringing up his hands to wipe away Eiríkur's tears. "I like it just as much as you, however what happens tomorrow will happen whatever we do."

"I know…it's just so…so unfair. Unfair that we're trapped in this obligation, just because we are royalty. Is this all just a _game_ to them? To throw siblings into an arena and tell them to kill each other? Because of our stupid ancestors who died centuries ago with their ridiculous traditions, who didn't give a_ damn_ about any_one_ or any_thing_!"

Lukas pulled his little one into a tight hug, pressing light kisses all over Eiríkur's face. The silver haired prince had stopped crying, but looked so heart-wrenchingly sad, like he was beyond tears at this point. He looked like he was still crying, his face was pulled into that terrible expression, but his eyes had run dry. Eiríkur buried his head into Lukas' firm chest, their clothes having been torn away their bodies earlier in the evening. The thick blankets pooled around their hips, leaving their bare chests to play with shadows cast by the pale moon through the window, curtains opened.

Lukas rubbed his hands up and down his young lover's back, massaging the tense muscles in Eiríkur's shoulders and gently tugging the short hair tufting at the back of his brother's neck, finger running through tangles acquired due to earlier activities. He appeared collected on the surface, but both brothers knew that Lukas' emotions were a great maelstrom of whipping anger, flashing pain, lashing fear and furious yet soothing feeling of love that permeated everything.

He was strong and emotionless on the outside. Only those closest to him knew it wasn't all the way through.

"We can change things, you know." Lukas whispered into the darkness of the room, threading the fingers of both his hands into Eiríkur's hair, nuzzling his face into it.

"Huh?"

"We can change things," Lukas stopped, but after taking a deep breath, continued, nearly choking on his next words. "Whichever of us…survives…can change things. They will take the throne and can then undo this stupid tradition. Can undo all the harmful things our father has done to Thule. Can stop all of this, this _madness_…"

Violet eyes met swirling blue. "Já…they can." Eiríkur agreed, swallowing uncomfortably at the thought of a time after tonight. When there would only be one brother left. It seemed an impossible thought- Lukas had _always_ been there for him. But now it seeped into his thoughts slowly, like a spreading cloud of poison, creeping and deadly. It rolled into his feelings, into his thoughts, into his memories, tainting them with a touch of bittersweet pain.

Eiríkur suddenly leant forward pushing his lips over Lukas', tightening his grip around his older brother's upper arms and kissing him deeply, passionately. Lukas kissed back, and time was lost to them for a while.

When the younger brother pulled back, he whispered desperately, sadness catching his throat. "I don't want tonight to be over. I don't want morning to come."

Lukas sighed, "Time will always pass, lillebror. Even when you do not want it to. Morning will always come, even when it seems impossible. No matter how hard you wish for it, Mother Nature does not abide by the whims of man. That is just the way it is, and you have to keep moving along with it. It is more painful to let yourself get caught in the undertow, then you will be dragged along, hitting obstacles every bump of the way. You have to move, even if you just crawl."

The moonlight glimmered across the bed. The brothers settled down together, for the last time. They kissed again.

"Ég elska þig." Eiríkur murmured.

A sad, loving smile. "Jeg elsker deg også, lillebror."

* * *

The crowd cheered, the sound echoing around the stadium from the colourful stands. Across the wide arena, the brothers could see each other being fitted up with their gear, being handed their weapons.

Then all went silent. They were both in the middle, just metres away from each other, ready to begin.

'Love you.' Eiríkur mouthed.

Lukas smiled.

They raised their swords.

"_Begin!"_

* * *

**Yay, this is finally up! I'm very sorry for not posting earlier, but school just started again from a holiday and the sudden change hit me quite hard. As I said before, I now cannot update everyday, but I will try my best to get at least a couple of chapters up each week. I cannot make any promises, though, because this is basically exams year and I have a Drama exam next week, a German writing exam and a German speaking exam in two weeks and about six mock exams coming up in around four weeks (all in one week). So I'm going to be busy, and I'm sorry but school work takes priority over fanfiction.**

**On a lighter note, a massive thank you to my reviewers JustMakeLeftTurns, Guest, AimIsTalking, Iggy and Smileey who found the time to drop a comment. I really love reviews (hint, hint). Also a thank you to Phyripo, SullyWullybunny and TheLandOfIce for favouriting and TheLandOfIce and SullyWullybunny again for following.**

**'Game' is set in a Human!AU far into the future. Just assume that a massive war has taken place and the map has changed a fair bit. Technology has also gone backwards, knowledge being destroyed and not taught as well as the sheer destruction of the war. Thule is an old name for Iceland and this is where it is set. The decree in the beginning came about centuries before the actual story, and sets the traditions of royalty in the isolated island of Thule. As two princes, Norway and Iceland have to fight to the death for the right to claim the throne- by which they can restore sanity to their country. This is the night before the duel.**

**By the way, 'Jarl', the name of the king at the beginning is a Norwegian name meaning 'leader/chieftan' and the name 'Fritjof' means 'thief of peace'. Fritjof is the one who invaded Iceland and turned it into Thule (becoming the king) and Jarl is his son. They are both ancestors of Norway and Iceland and definately weren't the nicest people in the world.**

**Honestly? When I got the prompt 'Game', something like 'The Hunger Games' sprang to mind, but that's too big and I feel like that is unimaginative to use. My universes have to be original! So I used the thought of 'playing around with people (Norway and Iceland)' but not in a nice way. The whole tradition where everyone comes to watch (like the Roman Collusseum) does make it seem like a sick game.**

**Read and Review, please!**

**~Variegata~**


	7. The True You

**100 Days of NorIce**

**Prompt 76- The True You**

* * *

_TRUE (adjective):__ 1. Consistent with fact or reality.  
2. Real, genuine.  
3. Reliable, accurate.  
4. Faithful, loyal.  
5. Rightful, legitimate._

* * *

"We should tell him."

Eiríkur looked across at Teitr. The usually joyful Iceland stared back, worry clouding his amethyst eyes. Teitr's face, normally pulled into a warm smile, looked unusually solemn and his upbeat tone had disappeared.

"I know. And I will…it's just…"

"You're scared he'll reject you. Reject us. We know. We're scared, too."

Eiríkur swallowed, looking away. "Even Haraldur?" he asked, trying to imagine to firm, unshakable Iceland afraid of _anything_.

"Já, even him."

Eiríkur felt a spike of fear flash through him. If even _Haraldur _was scared…but…but…

But he had to. He had to tell Norway. _They_ had to tell their brother, whom they had kept their secret from for so long. Eiríkur inhaled sharply, gathering up his courage and picking the phone up before it could fail him. He paused again, suddenly unsure once more. Teitr nodded at him from the other sofa in their living room, before disappearing into thin air.

Eiríkur punched in Norway's number, fingers shaking slightly and causing him to mistype more than once. When he had the right number, he quickly pressed the call button, before he could lose his nerve. He spoke calmly, repressing the quiver trying to bleed through.

"Hey, Noregur? I was wondering if you would like to come over some time before the next World Meeting…"

* * *

They arranged for Norway to stay over for two nights before the two brothers would travel together to the World Meeting in Paris. Norway was supposed to be arriving in around half an hour. Eiríkur was a nervous wreck, pacing up and down their living room, wringing his hands and pulling his hair, muttering worries under his breath.

"What if he doesn't believe us? What if he throws us into an asylum, or something? What if he rejects us, never talks to us again? What if-"

"Eiríkur!" Haraldur snapped, "Stop wearing a hole in the carpet and _calm down_! We've got the plan all figured out. Noregur cares for us. A lot. He will at least give us a chance to explain ourselves. Besides, it's not like we're going to rush him all at once. He'll be introduced to each of us one at a time, and then we'll explain after. Just stop worrying. You're making me antsy, too."

Eiríkur stilled and forced himself to calm down, taking deep breaths and absorbing Haraldur's words. He opened his eyes and looked at the other Iceland. Haraldur was sitting on the arm of one of their sofas, flat eyes staring back into Eiríkur's own. He was wearing black slacks tucked into the same boots Eiríkur wore on a daily basis (although his were black in colour), a navy blue dress shirt and a black leather trench coat. A pair of dark sunglasses rested upon his forehead, leaving dark violet eyes free to stare piercingly into Eiríkur's lilac.

"Já, it's gonna be okay, Eiríkur." Teitr shimmered into view sitting on the seat next to Haraldur, smiling at Eiríkur. While his face seemed reassuring, his amethyst eyes held a slight worry, but there was hope mixed in, too. Eiríkur nodded to him, afraid that if he opened his mouth again, all he would do was babble.

Teitr looked different again, wearing some black skinny jeans and a button-up chequered t-shirt in various shades of blue. A pair of black and white converses were on his feet and a silver watch upon his wrist. He looked a lot more approachable then the cold and distant Haraldur, his face having some faint laugh lines and his features softer than Haraldur's sharp and clean cut ones.

A 'hmm' of agreement came from slightly behind Eiríkur, and he turned to see the final Iceland sitting on the opposite sofa to Haraldur and Teitr. Gunnar was the most outlandish looking of them all. While Teitr looked like a normal teen (albeit one with good fashion sense) and Haraldur could pass as a typical 'bad boy', Gunnar would have immediately attracted attention if he stepped a foot out of the house.

A sleeveless white tunic with black edging extending down into a loincloth that reached just above the knees was worn. A brown leather belt was buckled tightly around his hips, cloth packs hanging off it at the back and a scabbard for a sword on the left side, ready to pull out with his right hand. Gunnar wore black leggings under his tunic, tucked into brown leather boots. A pair of brown leather bracers covered his forearms, strapped on the inside with black cord.

The sword had a hardwood handle with a metal guard, and the blade was sharp and strong, stout enough to hack through armour and thin enough to slip in between ribs. Magic was imbued in the sword, keeping it in good condition. The scabbard was plain brown, simple and functional. Gunnar held a spear in his hand, usually kept strapped across his back when he wasn't using it.

Gunnar looked different to all the others. He had the same general features- as they all did- but his skin was slightly darker than Eiríkur, Teitr and Haraldur's pale complexion. While they all had the same lithe build, Gunnar's muscles were slightly more defined and his eyes were a mauve colour. A pale scar ran over his nose horizontally, and a few more cut over visible skin in his upper arms.

"We'll be fine." Gunnar assured, his deep slow voice filling the room. "Noregur will listen."

Eiríkur felt better. Gunnar was not a man of many words, and those he did say he was always sure of. "Þakka þér…" Eiríkur whispered to all three.

The doorbell rang.

The sound seemed to echo through the house, ringing with a kind of finality that made Eiríkur's heart beat faster. Haraldur, Teitr and Gunnar disappeared, seemingly dissolving into thin air, although not before Teitr gave him a reassuring smile. Eiríkur moved towards the front door, pushing the handle down and inhaling a deep breath before pulling it open.

"Halló, Noregur." He said, looking at the blond nation standing on their front porch, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Norway was smiling lightly at him, and it made Eiríkur's heart swell with warmth, not in an unpleasant way.

"Hei, Island. Are you well?"

"Fine, fine." Eiríkur stepped out of the way, allowing Norway to go past him and into their house. Eiríkur shut the door and followed Norway into their living room, watching as their brother sat down in the seat Teitr had previously been occupying. "How are you? How's everyone else?"

"I am fine, takk for asking. Danmark is as annoying as ever, and Finland and Sverige are fine as well."

"Glad to hear it, can I get you a drink or anything?"

"Nei, I am okay without, takk." Norway looked into lilac eyes, seemingly searching for something. "Island, is everything alright? I mean no offense, but you do not normally invite me or anyone else over without dire circumstances-"

Eiríkur's eyes widened, and he was quick to protest, anxiety blossoming inside of him. "Nei! Nei, we're- I mean, _I_ am fine. Really. I just wanted to see you."

Norway stared steadily at him, obviously not believing what he had just been told, but willing to let it pass. For the moment, anyway. Nervousness twisted Eiríkur's stomach, and the fear that Norway would reject him, reject _them_, seared through him once again. The room swam at the edges of his vision. He needed to get out. He needed space to breathe. To collect himself. Away from the penetrating gaze of his brother.

Eiríkur quickly spotted an excuse to leave the room for a couple of minutes. He walked forward and grabbed Norway's duffle bag from the other seat on the sofa his brother was sitting on. "I'll take this to your room. It's the same one you had before. On the right, two doors down." Eiríkur fled the room as quick as he dared, not giving Norway time to protest. He could feel their brother's gaze burning into his back.

Eiríkur raced up the stairs, yanking open the door to the guest room he had given Norway and entering, the momentum causing the door to close behind him. He put the bag on the large double bed and sank down to the floor at the bottom of it, back leaning against the footboard. His chest heaved as he breathed hard.

Teitr morphed into existence next to him. "It'll be alright." he whispered, placing a hand on Eiríkur's shoulder. Eiríkur closed his eyes and gathered himself, knowing that Norway was still downstairs. When he had centred himself, he opened his eyes and nodded sharply, making Teitr grin before he shimmered away. Eiríkur stood up, walking surely back downstairs. Norway would find out their secret before the end of this visit. They knew this. They had planned for this. He shouldn't doubt their _(beautiful, beautiful_) brother.

Eiríkur went back into their living room, sitting down next to his brother on the sofa. By now, Norway had taken off his coat and had hung it up in the hall. His shoes were also by the door, next to Eiríkur's own white half-laced boots. Norway pulled Eiríkur into his side when he sat down, and the silver haired nation curled up there. He was half-afraid that this hug might be his last one, if Norway didn't react well.

"We can have lunch soon; it's getting close to two, now." Eiríkur murmured, moving to get up reluctantly. His ingrained manners didn't allow him to be impolite to his guest, even if that guest was his brother. "I can cook something, or we can just have sandwiches."

Norway seemed to ponder this for a moment, before nodding and moving his arm so that his little brother could get up. Eiríkur moved out of the room and into his kitchen, deciding that he didn't really want to cook and instead started preparing some sandwiches for himself and Norway. He nearly cut himself with a knife when he jumped as Teitr suddenly giggled in his head. _**"My turn!"**_ the cheerful Iceland chirped. Eiríkur and Teitr switched places.

To an outsider, it must have looked very strange. Their body suddenly _morphed,_ Eiríkur's features softening slightly and laugh lines crinkling into his face as it was overtaken by Teitr's looks. The brown-red trousers became black jeans and his white dress shirt became a chequered t-shirt in shades of blue, converses suddenly appeared on his feet. Lilac eyes turned amethyst.

Teitr pulled off the converses and threw them into a corner of the kitchen, reminding himself to get them later. In the recesses of their shared mind, Haraldur sighed at that thought, knowing that Teitr would completely forget. The new Iceland finished up the sandwiches and picked up the plates, moving back into the living room.

Norway stared. The person walking into the room with two plates in his hands looked a lot like Iceland. Like, a lot, a lot. The same silver hair, the same overall looks (although they appeared mildly softer), the same lilac ey- wait. Their eyes were a shade of purple, but a different shade than Iceland's. The person was also wearing vastly different clothing than to what Iceland normally wore. But…this person did feel like a nation. He also felt like Iceland. He had Iceland's aura, the unique feeling given off by any nation and every nation's was different.

"Island?"

The person ignored him, instead handing him a plate with a sandwich on it and smiling widely at him. He put down the other plate where Iceland had been sitting and looked back to him.

"Sorry! I forgot to get you a drink!" He even _sounded_ like Iceland, albeit more upbeat. Norway barely got the chance to stand up to even try and stop the other before they had left the room again. Norway blinked in confusion.

_What was that about?_

* * *

Outside, Eiríkur had resumed control. They were in the kitchen again, and Teitr had just slipped back into their mind. _**"There, that wasn't too bad. One down, two to go!"**_

"Are you crazy?" Eiríkur hissed, keeping his voice very quiet. They could only speak in their minds when they weren't in control of the body. "How am I going to explain this to Noregur?"

"_**Don't."**_ Teitr advised. _**"Just pretend you don't know what he's talking about if he asks about me."**_

"Which he will." Eiríkur muttered. After receiving no reply, he pulled two glasses out of a cupboard and filled then with water. Returning to the living room, he passed Norway his glass and picked up his sandwich, sitting down.

"Who was that person who came in before?"

Eiríkur looked to Norway in confusion. "Who? Noregur, what are you talking about?"

Norway stayed silent and just stared into Eiríkur's eyes. Eiríkur kept the look of innocent confusion on his face until Norway looked away, letting the matter drop and offering no explanation to his question which should have puzzled the younger nation.

Eiríkur didn't pursue the matter, knowing that his acting skills only went so far. He finished with starting to eat his sandwich, occasionally giving Norway looks of confusion out of the corner of his eyes.

* * *

The rest of the day passed without incident, and Norway finally stopped looking at Eiríkur so intently. The blond knew that something wasn't right, from Iceland unexpectedly wanting him to come over, to the incident with the strange teen that looked so much like his little brother appearing (if only briefly) and then inexplicably disappearing.

The two brothers had spent the rest of the day talking about anything and everything. Any subject that caught their fancy was discussed, and after a long description from Iceland about the clubs in Reykjavík, Norway realised that it was, in fact, getting quite late.

"Time for bed, lillebror." He said, after Iceland had finished. Iceland blinked at him and then glanced to the clock on the wall.

"You're right." The smaller nation agreed.

They both went upstairs, Norway entering his room and opening his bag, pulling out some night wear. A creak of wooden boards stopped him from changing, though. He went to the window and looked down, there on Iceland's back porch, leading down into the large garden, was a man. Norway withdrew a step and pulled the curtains across, darkening the room. He leant to switch on the bedside lamp and walked back downstairs (noting that there was no noise or light coming from Iceland's room), going to Iceland's back door and opening it.

The cold night air hit Norway as he stepped out onto the porch. The man (teen, really, now that Norway got a good look at him) was leaning against the wall, hands shoved in trench coat pockets and staring intently up at the night sky.

"Aren't the stars beautiful?" the person asked abruptly, a low gravelly tone sweeping through the air.

"I suppose they are, why?" Norway replied, having seen the silver hair glinting in the clear moonlight and realising that this person _also_ looked a lot like Iceland.

"Because I always thought of them as millions of little bugs I could crush." The man grinned. "They look so tiny from here. Beautiful… and helpless. Their light does not penetrate the smog covered skies of many places in our world. Such monstrous balls of burning gas defeated by such inconsequential things as human beings. It's ridiculous."

Haraldur turned to smirk at Norway, ignoring the protests to his words from Eiríkur and Teitr inside their head. He then turned and walked away, around their house and out of sight, leaving Norway with far more questions than he had answers for.

* * *

This time Norway was safe in bed when he heard it. The blond nation blinked, suddenly awake. He turned towards the clock that read 3:07 a.m, and wondered what had woken him up. The sound of stone grinding on metal sifted through the night, muffled, but it was clearly that sound.

Norway arose out of the warm confines of his bed, somewhat reluctantly, but the overwhelming curiosity overpowered him and that internal whine was swiftly silenced. What was making that sort of noise?

Norway crept silently out of bed, opening the bedroom door. The sound was louder now, less muffled. It was coming from somewhere in the house. Norway stepped out onto the landing, pinpointing the noise as coming from further down the landing. Norway had never really been down there, his knowledge of Iceland's house extending only to the ground floor and where the bathroom and his guest room were on the upper floor.

The blond nation walked further down the landing, turning a corner and keeping on going, the sound getting louder. Norway frowned when he realised that he hadn't known that Iceland's house was this big- there was even another flight of stairs leading up to another floor! The house certainly didn't look this large from the outside…Norway would have said that magic had been used to expand it on the inside, like his own houses were, but he didn't know if Iceland had ever used magic…maybe he had, and Norway had just never noticed…

It struck the older brother as he approached one particular door where the sound was the loudest, that he didn't actually know very much about Iceland. His favourite colour, food, drink, animal…it was all unknown to him. This revelation was mildly upsetting for Norway, who had always prided himself in being Iceland's older brother. He quietly resolved to get to know Iceland better.

Norway stood in front of the door for a moment, before opening it, pushing his musings on Iceland out of his mind for the time being. It appeared to be a storage room, the walls undecorated, and boxes piled up and around. Trinkets and all sorts of things lay draped, hung, stood, and leaning against everything else.

And there, sat on a wooden crate, was someone who could have leapt straight from the pages of a history textbook. A young man with Iceland's looks, wearing clothing several hundred years out of date, was using a fist-sized whetstone to sharpen the edges of the head of a spear. With the medieval weapon on his lap, the youth was carefully swiping across the edges of the deadly-looking spear, sharpening it to slice flesh with a cut.

Well, this was…unexpected.

After finishing the stroke he was on, the man looked up, and (once again) Norway was struck at how similar his features were to Iceland's. Mauve eyes observed him before seemingly deeming him no threat and continuing on with the motion of the whetstone.

Norway abruptly decided that he was just having some kind of lucid dream, because there was _no way_ a man with both a spear and a sword (which he had spotted hanging from the youth's belt) was in Iceland's house in the middle of the night. Norway turned, deciding that all he had seen in this strange dream wasn't real. Iceland's house wasn't this big, there was no medieval warrior sitting comfortably in a storage room, and he _was going back to bed before this dream got any crazier_.

As he left the room and started walking back to his own guest room, a deep voice filtered down the passage after him.

"Góða nótt, Noregur…"

* * *

After his late night escapades, Norway awoke later than usual at 9:16 a.m. After having a quick shower in the bathroom and getting dressed, he went downstairs to grab some late breakfast. Striding into the kitchen to get an apple out of the fruit bowl, Norway stopped suddenly when he saw a man wearing medieval clothing standing comfortably against the work-surface getting himself some toast. The man looked so out of place surrounded by modern things and performing a modern activity, that it was almost funny. Except for the fact that it meant that he hadn't been dreaming last night.

"Morning, Noregur." Gunnar grunted, spreading some jam on his toast and walking past the shell-shocked nation into the living room. Norway followed him after having frozen for a moment, entering the living room. Only there was no medieval warrior sitting on a sofa, but instead Iceland sitting there eating the toast, the news playing on the TV.

Eiríkur looked up at their brother as he hovered in the doorway, clearly confused. "Góðan daginn, Noregur. Did you sleep well?"

"Not as well as I would have liked." Norway muttered, striding to stand in front of Eiríkur and looking down at him. The blond snatched the remote and turned off the television, now receiving Eiríkur's full attention.

"Who else is in this house?" Norway demanded, seeing Eiríkur's face start to pull into a look of confusion (although now Norway could see that it was false), he quickly added. "And do not lie to me. I know you know that there are others here."

Eiríkur's face stopped pretending to be confused. He swallowed, looking down. This was it. If Norway didn't accept them…

Norway knelt down in front of Iceland, putting his hands on his knees, the plate of toast forgotten on the floor. Eiríkur refused to meet Norway's eyes. The elder put a finger under Eiríkur's chin and pushed his head upwards so that his younger brother would look at him. Iceland's face was blank, but his eyes held a deep-seated fear. When lilac met blue, Eiríkur tried to break eye contact.

_He is afraid of something_, Norway thought, and then a realisation that stabbed at his heart. _He is afraid of…me._

Norway let his finger fall and instead encircled his arms around Iceland in the form of a comforting hug. All the fear, the worry and the guilt of keeping the secret had built up inside of Iceland. But now the dam burst, and the swirling torrents of those emotions flooded through. They clutched at Norway, burying their head in his chest and Eiríkur sobbed, shoulders shaking, tears pouring down his face.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! We're sorry, we're sorry, we're sorry…"

"Shhh…" Norway comforted. "It is okay, whatever it is, it is okay."

"Nei…nei, it's not." Eiríkur choked out. "You'll hate us for keeping this from you. You'll hate us, you'll hate us!"

"I could never hate you, lillebror." Norway murmured into their ear, his mind stuck on the fact that Iceland thought he would _hate_ him. How could he hate such a beautiful creature as his younger brother?

"You will…" Eiríkur whimpered.

"I will not." Norway challenged. "Now, explain why you think I will hate you."

"'Cause we've been keeping something huge from you for hundreds of years…"

"Why?"

"'Cause we were scared…"

"Of what?"

"That you'll reject us, hate us…" Eiríkur whispered, trembling. He couldn't look at Norway's face. At the expression that might be on there.

"Silly lillebror. I will never, and _could never_ hate you." Norway looked steadily down at his precious sibling, threading long pale fingers through silver hair. "Now what have you been keeping from me?"

This was it. It could be all over. "T-there's more than one ĺsland!" Eiríkur blurted out, unable to drag it out any longer. Norway inhaled sharply.

"What do you mean?" he asked lowly.

Eiríkur shook at the flat tone. "I-we have Dissociative Identity Disorder. There's four of us, but we all share one body."

"More detail, please." Norway said, trying to absorb what he was being told.

"It s-started ages ago, before you came along. There were people that discovered me before you, and I came into existence then. But they all left and I was there for many years _all alone_. That loneliness, it tears at your mind. It hurt. It hurt so bad and I was all alone and there was no one else-"

Eiríkur choked and stopped for a moment. He let the comforting murmurings of the other Iceland's calm him down before he continued.

"As I said, there are four of us. Me, Eiríkur. Then there's Teitr, Haraldur and Gunnar. I was so very lonely, and I desperately wanted someone else there. To talk to, to play with. So I created Teitr- an imaginary friend at first. But as you know, all nations have the innate ability to use magic, even if most do not believe any more. My magic poured into Teitr, and he became…real."

Teitr shimmered into existence on the sofa seat next to Eiríkur. "Já, I became real."

Norway looked up at the voice, and came face-to-face with the strange teen from yesterday. Teitr took over from Eiríkur. "I became the second 'ĺsland', although at the time we were not known by that name. I became the companion and friend Eiríkur desperately needed to save himself from going insane with loneliness, although one could say that by me coming into existence he did that."

Teitr sighed, watching as Norway's hands unconsciously rubbed small circles on Eiríkur's back. "We only have one physical body, which we share. We call that body 'ĺsland' and each personality by our human names. When another personality takes control, the body changes slightly and so do the clothes. When we are in control, we cannot talk telepathically with the others, although we can hear them."

"But I can see you there now, as two separate individuals." Norway pointed out. Teitr smiled slightly.

"Já, we can appear outside while we are not in control, but our bodies aren't physical. If you poked me, your hand would go right through me. But anyway, back to the story. After you came along, me and Eiríkur hid my existence. Eiríkur was more used to controlling the body and he was the 'original', so to speak. Eiríkur became 'ĺsland' in the eyes of everyone else."

Norway stopped Teitr again. "But you said there were four of you. When did 'Haraldur' and 'Gunnar' come into existence?"

"I'm getting to that." Teitr grumbled. "Skipping a few hundred years, when the Kalmar Union broke up, you and Eiríkur were separated, já?"

Norway nodded, wincing at the reminder of that awful time in history.

"Right, well, as you know, Danmörk didn't really take your loss well. He started drinking, well, more than he already did. He got pretty violent, too, but never remembered any of it in the morning-"

Norway growled, pulling Eiríkur closer. His eyes were alight with fury. "Are you saying that he-"

"Hit us? Já. But we've forgiven him. People do stupid things when they're drunk. But anyway, Eiríkur didn't really have the power to defend himself, and neither did I. That was when Gunnar was created. He's the one with the sword and spear by the way. He was the embodiment of everything seen in those days as 'strong'. He was a soldier, had a weapon in his hand, was brave and physically powerful. Everything Eiríkur, stuck in a small body, was not."

Norway nodded in understanding, eyes flicking to where Gunnar had materialised himself, leaning against the wall. "So Gunnar was like a…protector?"

Teitr nodded opening his mouth to continue when he was interrupted.

"It's okay, Teitr. I can take it from here." Eiríkur said, straightening up but remaining in Norway's protective hold. "Gunnar was the third personality; he was a warrior who would fight when we couldn't. If it hadn't been for him, we would have come out of those years with far more scars than we did."

Norway twitched at the reminder of the drunken abuse, gripping tighter into Eiríkur's shoulders.

"Skipping a few more years, we started slowly chipping away at Danmörk for our independence. Every law in our favour, every act we could grab onto to help us. But none of us were cut out for the political side of things, Gunnar was made for fighting, Teitr as a friend. Then we created Haraldur, a personality made for tactics. A sharp mind able to navigate the labyrinth of politics and at the same time a wicked strategist, with a mind geared towards war."

"I don't like to go and fight. I'm more of a sit back and plan, and then watch it all happen, sort of a guy." Norway glanced over his shoulder at the Iceland with a trench coat standing behind him, a cruel smirk on his lips. "Let's just say I'm very good at chess, hmm?"

"It was thanks to him that we finally got our independence." Teitr murmured. "He also helps us in world politics after. He knows what he wants and he gets it. Whether the way he goes about it is moralistic or not."

"Don't make me out to be some sort of cruel monster uncaring of others." Haraldur gritted out. "I have always held our people's best interests at heart."

"He wasn't saying that, Haraldur." Eiríkur quickly butted in. "He was merely pointing out that you will do anything for those you care about."

Haraldur grunted, mollified.

Norway stood up. Four pairs of purple eyes darted to him, holding their breaths. Eiríkur spoke quietly, afraid to break the tension in the room. "We're sorry. We kept this from you for so long. It was cowardly of us…"

"Nei. Hush, Eiríkur. All four of you were scared. And understandably so. You…are afraid of me. Of what I will do now."

"…já."

Norway walked slowly over to Gunnar, staring at the warrior in the eyes. "Tusen takk for protecting him when I could not." He whispered.

The blond went over to Haraldur. "Tusen takk for granting him his freedom when I could not help him."

The older brother went and knelt in front of Teitr. "Tusen takk for being his friend when I was not there."

Finally, Norway turned to Eiríkur. He embraced him. He kissed him on the forehead. And then, after a moment of hesitation…on the lips. "Tusen takk for showing me the true you."

Norway stood back up. "Jeg elsker deg. All of you." He said.

And somehow, everything was going to be alright.

* * *

**Holy-! I'm so sorry for taking so long to update, but does this make up for it? Really, this took me so long to drum out, and it's about five times longer than anything else so far! I feel proud of myself. Although I hope that nobody was too out of character...and the ending is pretty sappy...**

**A massive thank-you to cuzimafreak, AimIsTalking, TheLandOfIce and Guest who took the time to review. Also a thank-you to YoungJustice4ever, Alonis, Crazyanime and Hoshi19 for favouriting and Alonis, Hoshi19, Molly kirkland, beillaria and gannondorksucks101 for story alerting.**

**The idea for 'The True You' is that I took one look at the prompt and a voice in my head screamed 'Multiple personalities!' and that is how Iceland ends up sharing his head with three other people. Haraldur, Teitr and Gunnar are all Icelandic names (see, I actually had to go and research for them!). Haraldur means 'leader of an army', so I made him a strategist rather than a warrior. Gunnar means 'warrior' which is why he is how he is (it is also a common Icelandic name) and Teitr means 'joyful' so I made him a nice guy. In case anyone wants to know, Eiríkur means 'a very powerful man'. **

**So Iceland has muliple personalities, but he's kept it a secret. They all finally decide that Norway has to know, and then reveal themselves to him one at a time. They are scared of rejection because this is something nobody else has ever known. Norway puts their fears to rest. Because they can't be a couple (or a fivesome) if Norway doesn't love all four of them. Which he does. I don't think that Norway would ever not love Iceland, even if he turned completely evil and killed everyone else...**

**Also, I'm sorry for making Denmark a 'bad guy'! He isn't actually supposed to be, because that's not how I view him. I see him as a guy who just really wanted a family, so when his Govenment kept ruining things and straining relationships he was rather sad. After everyone basically leaves him (except Iceland and some other places like Greenland (I'm reluctant to add in an OC, so just pretend that Greenland and the others lived in their own countries while Iceland lived with Denmark, so that is why they don't appear)) he gets drunk all the time and goes home and hits things (the walls, the furniture, anything) eventually taking it out on Iceland. But he doesn't remember this and Iceland isn't going to tell him because Denmark is hurting and telling him would shatter the guy, so Iceland hides it. Iceland isn't mad with Denmark at all. After a few decades, Denmark gets out of his slump and only occasionally gets drunk. The Nordics are family, after all. Family sticks together when they can and supports each other.**

**A note on the Norwegian and Icelandic- 'takk' is Norwegian for 'thank you' (which people probably know) and 'tusen takk' is like 'thank you very much', a more serious 'thank you' than just 'takk'. I feel that the context Norway was saying it in made this particular 'thank you' more appropriate. See, I actually did research! The translations should be accurate, I cross-referenced them with several sites because everyone knows that Google Translate is crap (it's alright for single words or simple phrases, but you have to be really careful).**

**So yeah, hope you enjoyed it and I'm sorry again for the wait.**

**Read and Review, please!**

**~Variegata~**


	8. Rebirth

**100 Days of NorIce**

**Prompt 24- Rebirth**

* * *

_REBIRTH (noun):__ 1. The process of being reincarnated or born again.  
2. The action of reappearing or starting to flourish or increase after a decline; revival._

* * *

The pale light of the moon illuminated the forest, throwing dark shadows of trees and branches into a sinister web, the skeletons of the leafless twigs spiking in every direction. The forest seemed dead, only twisted, gnarled trees stretching up into the night. No shrubbery existed on the dirt floor, nothing alive wandered this place. All was still.

Something moved.

Or rather, _someone_.

The soft crunch of long-dead twigs being snapped by a foot echoed loudly in the silent night. The faint sound of breathing followed, the breaths passing through warm lips and clouding in the air in white puffs.

"Who is there?" a voice called out to the approaching person.

"It's me, bror."

"Eiríkur," The voice sighed in relief. "For a second, I thought…" Lukas trailed off, watching his little brother step out of the shadows of the trees and into the clearing, the moonlight making his silver hair glow.

"It's okay, I'm here now. Safe." Eiríkur reassured. He walked forward, embracing his older brother, burying his head into the thin chest covered with many ragged and faded clothes, as if more layers might ward off the ever invading chill of the dead world.

"I am glad." Lukas replied, wrapping his arms around Eiríkur and pulling him into a soft, chaste kiss. Red blossomed across his little brother's cheeks but he did not pull away. Lukas released the silver haired brothers' lips and whispered. "I am happy that you are here."

"I couldn't let you do this alone, could I?" Eiríkur scoffed, but a look into his deep lilac eyes would tell anyone who could read them that the younger was a dizzying mixture of afraid and determined. Lukas kissed him once more on the forehead and pulled him towards the rune circle carved upon the ground, the dirt having been scraped away to the stone just beneath the surface.

"Is this it?" Eiríkur questions, looking at the stone with the runes carved carefully and precisely onto its surface.

"It is." Lukas confirmed. "Are you ready?" the older brother paused for a moment and then asked lowly, "Are you sure?"

"I'm ready," Eiríkur answered, before matching his brother's low tone. "And I'm sure."

No words were said after this, none were needed. Instead, Lukas approached the circle of runes and stepped carefully over them into the middle. Eiríkur followed him. They knelt down in the centre, facing each other. They held each other's hands- Lukas was the one casting the spell, and to take Eiríkur with him they had to have physical contact. They were so close that their kneecaps touched.

"If this works…" Eiríkur started. "How will we find each other again?"

"We will always be drawn to each other. It may take time, but we will meet again. Always."

Eiríkur smiled, "Forever." He whispered. The amount of adoration in the look Lukas gave him was immeasurable. Lukas took a deep breath…

Lilac eyes met deep blue.

Lukas began to chant.

An archaic language flowed from his mouth, the sounds of forgotten words vibrating in the charged air as the runes began to glow a fiery red. Sparks shot up around them, sporadically at first, and then growing in number. Silver and blond hair whipped in a powerful swirling wind, wrapping them in its violent embrace.

Eiríkur looked into Lukas' eyes, now glowing a blue-ish white. They stared back at him. Eyes seemed to convey what mouths could not.

'_I love you.'_

A brilliant flash, illuminating the entirety of the dead forest in its raging glow, erupted from the circle. When it had faded away, the place was still and silent again. A smoking rock, twisted and melted, sat in a shallow hole, scorch marks blasting form it to form a star on the surrounding earth.

They were gone.

* * *

Lukas leaned against the crumbling brick wall at the back of the school. The teenager was typing on his phone and rolling a cigarette in the fingers of his other hand. He brought it up to his mouth, inhaled, and then withdrew it. Smoke billowed out as he sighed, switching off his mobile and sliding it into his blazer pocket. That stupid Dane wasn't answering.

_He is probably out drunk somewhere_, he mused.

This was, of course, normal. Matthias Køhler was almost perpetually drunk. An irresponsible slacker inside school (when he actually bothered to attend) and outside of it he was even worse. Lukas often wondered why he bothered to associate with the brash and loud Dane, before he remembered the fact that they had grown up on the same street as children and Matthias was one of his only friends. Due to Lukas' reclusive, almost anti-social nature, he really didn't have many of them.

Unfortunately, and especially in recent years, their friendship had deteriorated. Most of it now consisted of Lukas putting up with sheer stupidity in the effort to continue a relationship that had mostly become a one-sided fight to save the scraps of a friendship that had faded through time. There was no real incident or breaking point. There had been no fight. There was no one at fault. They had just…drifted apart.

Lukas dropped the cigarette and smashed it under his foot, frustrated. How dare his musings lead him to why he was standing out here, waiting for a reply that would never come and a friend he didn't even know anymore to come or do or say _something_-

A voice broke through Lukas' thoughts.

"Are you alright?"

The Norwegian's head snapped up, dark eyes landing on a teen he had never seen before. The newcomer looked maybe a couple of years younger than him, with a lithe frame and the same school uniform Lukas himself was wearing hanging on him in a fashion that suggested second-hand clothing (despite this, they were in good condition, only a few frayed and faded areas). His accent definitely suggested someone foreign, heavy, and sifting into the English words coming out of his mouth.

Strangely, the young teen had silver hair (silver? Really?) and lilac eyes that shone like gems in the low light of the late afternoon-early evening sun (Lukas didn't even know how his mind had noticed this, but now that it was highlighted he found it hard _not_ to notice those soulful eyes).

"I am fine." Lukas intoned, keeping his eyes fixed on a space just above the teen's left shoulder, in an effort not to stare into the deep, fathoming depths of purple eyes that were really far too pretty for their owner's good and how they were tinted with concern as they stared at him in a way that made his insides twist and his skin tingle and the hair on his arms rise in a tantalising sensation that both terrified and thrilled the blond-

"Are you sure? You don't seem to be too well. You look rather red in the face, are you sure you don't have a fever or something?"

Lukas breathed in sharply, saying more firmly, "I am fine. I am not sick."

The other looked at him doubtfully, but said, "If you say so."

Having successfully fought down his blush (_him_, Lukas Bondevík- the Ice Prince of the World Academy- _blushing?_ 'How messed up is that?' That was what Matthias would say, Lukas mused, before he remembered that he was trying not to think about that stupid Dane), Lukas observed the younger teen standing perhaps six feet away from him. On second look, the slightly flushed heat on his face and the P.E bag hanging off his shoulder next to the normal school bag told Lukas what the other student had last lesson before the final bell had rung and school had ended.

"What is your name anyway, stranger?" the blond asked, not appearing to really be interested. The other teen blinked and quickly answered, the deepening of the heat on his face conveying the embarrassment at his overlook of an introduction.

"Eiríkur Steilsson. What about you?"

"Lukas Bondevík."

Eiríkur's eyes widened. Lukas' insides felt like they were being stabbed with a white hot knife. Eiríkur, despite clearly being a new student at the World Academy (known because he had not recognised Lukas), had clearly heard of his reputation. The one that stated him as being the coldest, most uncaring person alive that would kill you in your sleep if you insulted him.

Lukas suddenly found himself not wanting to be judged by his ridiculous reputation (a much exaggerated one, he _appeared_ emotionless; it didn't mean that he was. Also, where did the whole 'kill you in sleep' thing come from? He was sure his glares weren't _that_ scary). He wanted to be judged as a _person_.

Lukas stepped forward and grabbed Eiríkur's wrist before the younger could flee around the corner. He ignored the apologies that had started to flow from the other teen's mouth, instead his mind had once again zoomed in on a seemingly asinine thing- the feeling of Eiríkur's skin on his own. _Eiríkur_…the name rolled off his tongue. A beautiful name for a beautiful creature.

"I-I'm sorry, Mr Bondevík, sir! I didn't mean to be rude or-"

The silver haired teen was suddenly silenced a pair of cool lips pressed against his own. The kiss was somewhat forceful, Eiríkur's mouth opening to grant entrance before his mind had caught up with the situation. A hand snaked around the back of Eiríkur's head, pulling it closer. The other still held onto his wrist, though loosely now.

Then it was over and Lukas was walking back around the corner, leaving Eiríkur standing there behind the school in a state of shock, a cigarette butt still lightly smoking on the ground.

Lukas smiled as he walked, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. Eiríkur Steilsson was _his_. A beautiful creature that Lukas wanted to wrap up tight in his arms and never let go of. Maybe because he had never shown or felt much emotion towards life, it had all built up inside him, Lukas imagined. He had never felt much for anything or anyone; so now that he had someone he felt for, did all of those unused emotions just intensify the feelings Lukas had for a complete stranger?

Well, whatever it was, it burned fiercely inside him. Just to _hold_ the silver haired teen had had his skin tingling with an intoxicating wave of _something_. Nobody would harm the beautiful silver-haired lilac-eyed creature. He was _his_.

And everyone knew better than to go after what Lukas Bondevík called 'his'.

* * *

The pub wasn't very busy. It was still too early in the evening for that. But in around an hour or two, more people would start piling in, ordering drinks that would eventually break down their liver and sit on dark wooden chairs, watching the football that was playing on the large screen on the wall. Some would talk and chat and the occasional fight would break out, some would stumble out of the door while others had to have people called to come and pick them up.

All in all, a normal pub.

A blue eyed man walked in the door, shivering from the cold outside. The snow laying on his coat and hat melted into droplets of water as the man stamped his feet on the welcome mat and made his way over to the bar, unwrapping his scarf and stuffing it in his pocket, pulling off his hat to reveal blond hair. He sat on one of the small bar stools.

"The usual?" asked the silver haired bartender (who really looked far too young to have this sort of job but nobody really questioned it, the pub was in a fairly seedy area after all).

"Ja, takk." The Norwegian man replied, watching as the other moved away to get his drink. His heavy gaze lingered on the stark silver hair gleaming in the low lights of the pub and the graceful movements with which the Icelandic teen prepared his order, the result of much practise.

The glass made a muffled thud as it was placed in front of him; Lukas threw some coins onto the table and pretended to divert his attention elsewhere. He continued to observe the bartender he had come to know so well out of the corner of his eye.

The younger man was named Eiríkur Steilsson, this Lukas knew. However, because hardly anyone could pronounce his real name (Lukas being one of the few because he too came from a Nordic country), he was simply known as Ice to the customers and people of the area. Nobody messed with Ice, despite his somewhat frail looks. Everyone knew that no matter how rowdy the fights in the pub got, it was always Ice who had to stop the drunken brawl. This had given him the reputation of 'untouchable' after people had witnessed it and spread the word. Lithe he may be, but Ice could fight with the best of them.

Lukas found his eyes lingering on the muscles visible through the tight, form-fitting white dress shirt Ice was wearing, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Black slacks hugged perfect legs and ended with black leather shoes. A black ribbon tie was around Ice's neck. The uniform and the décor of the pub gave the place class, making it very popular with the seedy patrons of the area when trying to impress gullible men and women into doing business with them.

Lukas quickly realised what he was doing and looked away, swallowing. He knew he felt for the young bartender. He had been coming to this place for years, plenty of time to get to know someone, even if their conversations were short. Most of the communication between them seemed to be non-verbal, anyway. They just…_understood_ each other, in a way that no one else ever had. It wasn't something Lukas could really describe. They had just…_clicked_.

"Everything alright at work?" Eiríkur asked, back from serving a man who looked rather drunk already. Lukas was shaken out of his thoughts. He looked up from the glass he was gripping with both hands…and directly into Ice's enigmatic eyes set perfectly in a sculpted face that was just a bit _too close_.

"J-ja, everything is going fine." Lukas replied, composing himself before he thought of any more sweet things he would like to do with those pale pink lips so close to his. Really, if he just leant forward, he could kis-

The door slammed open, admitting a cold draft into the warm pub.

Heads turned, Lukas' and Eiríkur's included. Then eyes widened at the man standing in the entrance, a heavy winter coat wrapped around him and a long scarf fluttering down over his shoulders. The (very) large man smiled innocently at them, but this action did not give a comforting effect. Instead, chills ran down people's spines and the air in the room got tense. Even the most drunk and rowdy patrons of the pub quietened down and sobered up as if they had been plunged into ice cold water.

Ivan Braginski, the leader of the most notorious gang in the city, walked into the small pub known as The Bad Hand (named after the original owner lost it in a game of poker, the second manager ran the place down to the ground and then lost it in a bet, the third owner built the place back up before dying and it went to his son- who lost it in a card game, and then to the fifth owner who lost the establishment in a casino… and so on and so forth, it was a popular story to tell to newcomers- even so, many eyed the current owner waiting for him lose it, too).

Ivan Braginski wasn't a man anyone would want to cross. Tall and broad, the Russian man portrayed an intimidating and imposing figure. And that was to say nothing of his reputation…

"I'll have a bottle of vodka, Дa?" a deeply accented voice said childishly, the owner smiling at Ice as he shut the door behind himself and walked over to the bar. Eiríkur quickly moved to get the requested bottle, everyone's eyes on him as the room was still apart from the bartender. Ice may be good at fighting, but drunken brawls are far different from the sort of deadly fights Braginski walked out of unscathed.

Ivan's purple eyes watched Ice as well. "You are very pretty, aren't you, little котенок?" he said cheerfully as Ice put his vodka in front of him with a slight slam, waiting expectantly for the money Ivan fished out of his wallet before the bartender swept it into his pocket to put in the cash register later.

"What?"

"It's true! You are so feisty and cute, just like a little kitten!"

Ice shot the gang leader a look before turning away, knowing better than to pick a fight. However, Ivan reached out with one bulky arm and caught the bartender's shoulder, spinning him back around.

"Is there something you need?" Eiríkur gritted out. Ivan looked pleased at the fiery spirit of the one they called 'Ice'.

"Just admiring your sweet face, little котенок. It would look so _beautiful _screaming in pain, Дa?"

Ice threw the hand off his shoulder, glaring at the Russian man. Anger had overtaken his common sense. "Get out."

"Hmm?"

"Get out now, you sick freak!" Ice forced out, breathing heavily and gritting his teeth. The creepy smile on Ivan's face fell slightly, the feeling of danger growing.

"Ah, it seems I will have to teach you a lesson my little котенок. Don't worry, I'll be careful not to spoil that beautiful face of yours…"

Ivan stood up and gripped Ice's upper left arm, dragging him out from behind the bar. Eiríkur struggled against the Russian, but was clearly disadvantaged with Ivan's superior physical strength. The larger man slammed the silver haired youth against the bar; Ice's back bending over the counter as his hands warred with Ivan's in an attempt to push the Russian away.

"You look so pretty under me, little котенок. Maybe that lovely face of yours will look beautiful in pleasure, too? Дa?" Ivan crooned. Eiríkur's eyes widened and-

"Do not even think about it, Braginski."

The cold metal end of a gun was pressed against Ivan's temple. The Russian turned to look at Lukas, the business end of the gun ending up in the centre of his forehead. Cold blue eyes stared dispassionately into violet ones full of swirling madness. Lukas' face was stone, his voice sharp and authoritative. Arms were steady, stance prepared for a fight.

As violet eyes alighted upon the golden cross barrette pinning some blond hair back, recognition flooded into them.

"I didn't know you hung around these parts, usually you are sighted in the opposite side of the city, aren't you…_Black Cross_?" Ivan whispered, so only Eiríkur, Lukas and himself could hear the words.

The Russian giggled somewhat inappropriately, as though he wasn't bothered with being faced with a notorious assassin. The Black Cross was very famous for his silent, swift deaths. For having never been even sighted by the police. The only known fact about him (given by the Black Cross himself) was that he always wore a cross somewhere on his body. But a 'cross' could be anything, from a pattern on a piece of clothing, to a necklace, to a tattoo…the possibilities were endless.

Ivan Braginski only knew his face because he had hired the Black Cross before. It really was a miracle he had recognised him at all- when in uniform, the Black Cross hardly ever took off his face mask. It was only Lukas' voice and the cross barrette he always wore when he was around as a civilian that got him recognised.

Ice's eyes widened at the same time that Lukas' eyes narrowed, "Get out of The Bad Hand, Braginski, and never come back. You will leave Ice alone."

"And why would I do that, assassin?"

"Because I will blow your brains straight out of your skull if you touch Eiríkur ever again."

"I don't fear death, Black Cross."

"There are many things worse than death, Braginski. Do not make it necessary for me to have to introduce you to one of them."

Ivan let go of Ice and rose to his full height, Lukas' arm moving up to adjust to the new angle. "Have it your way, assassin. You're lucky that you're far more valuable to me alive than dead. But don't think that I won't be watching."

With that, Ivan Braginski turned and walked out of the pub, vodka bottle in hand. Only when he was out of the door, past the windows and partway down the darkened street did Lukas lower his gun. He holstered it, turning away from the door. The eyes of most of the pub were still on him. Lukas glared and they turned away, the unspoken rule coming into play.

What happened in The Bad Hand stayed in The Bad Hand.

Lukas extended a hand to help Eiríkur up off the counter. The bartender hesitantly took it. Ice didn't know what to think anymore- what should one do when they find out that their regular customer/secret crush was an infamous assassin?

"I apologise."

Eiríkur was shaken out of his musings. "Huh?"

"I apologise for my deception, we have known each other a long time and I should have been able to trust you."

"What? You're an _assassin_; you're supposed to keep it a secret! It would put your life in danger!"

"But you do not keep secrets from those that you love." Lukas replied, pulling Ice closer to him. Nobody had heard their conversation, the loud noise of chatter having started up again when Lukas had glared at the patrons to keep them from staring.

Lukas tilted Eiríkur's head up and their lips met, those noticing immediately turning away. Ice's heart beat faster and his hands rose up to grasp at Lukas' navy blue coat. He tilted his head to give the dangerous assassin dominance, a knot of fire sparking inside him. He felt that his heart would beat out of his chest as Lukas ran a smooth tongue across his bottom lip.

Sense returned to him when the two parted to take breath. Eiríkur's cheeks flushed at seeing Lukas' handsome face so close to his. The assassin smirked and tightened his grip around the smaller man.

"You are _mine_, Eiríkur. You belong to me." Lukas murmured into Ice's ear, trailing his tongue lightly around the shell of it.

Eiríkur didn't disagree.

* * *

Lukas Bondevík, all of nine years old, lay on his bed in his room. He flinched as the sound of a glass breaking echoed from downstairs, followed by raised voices screaming at each other in the midst of a loud argument. He put his hands over his ears and rolled onto his side, curling up. He wished that his parents wouldn't fight anymore.

The voices got louder and Lukas curled up tighter, as though that would shield him from the pain inside at the thought of his parents fighting again. It hurt. It burned. _They should not be fighting like this_, Lukas thought, _they used to love each other_. The past tense in that thought made something prick at the corners of his eyes.

_I am not going to cry_, Lukas told himself firmly. But the feeling seemed to be bursting out of his chest, and a small tear slipped out of his mystic blue eyes and trailed slowly down his cheek. Lukas fiercely rubbed it away.

A light tapping sound at his window startled the small Norwegian boy. Lukas cracked open his eyes to see a tiny someone that always made him feel strange. Eiríkur.

Lukas clambered off of his bed, moving to the window. He ignored the sounds of the continuing fight downstairs, his world having zeroed down to just Eiríkur and him. He turned the handle and, with a little bit of effort because the hinges were somewhat rusty, opened the window. Eiríkur fluttered inside.

"God dag, Eiríkur." Lukas greeted, his small stomach knotting in a strange but not unpleasant way.

"Goðan daginn." The small faerie replied, silver hair brushing the tips of his pointed ears as he shook his head to remove some dandelion seeds that had blown into and gotten caught in it on his flight to his human friend's house.

Eiríkur was one of Lukas' only friends (him, and that annoying Matthias boy who lived down the road that wouldn't leave Lukas alone, not that Lukas would ever admit to _liking _the blond idiot). Unfortunately, Lukas was the only one around that could actually see him. This was because Eiríkur was a faerie, or faery, or fae, or fairy. Whichever spelling one chose to use (although both Lukas and Eiríkur preferred 'faerie', it just looked more mysterious (enigmatic was the word Eiríkur had used, Lukas hadn't understood what it meant and it was changed to mysterious) and more magical).

Eiríkur was around twelve and a half centimetres tall (twelve _and a half_, Eiríkur insisted, when Lukas had forgot to mention the _and a half_ part when measuring him with a small plastic ruler after Eiríkur had expressed interest in knowing how tall he actually was, the _and a half_ part was important). He was lean due to the fact every faerie had to do a lot of physical work each day (well, the world in general was a lot bigger than them, that came with some difficulties).

The faerie had choppy silver hair (almost perpetually windswept) and large lilac eyes. Despite being outside most of the time, his skin was naturally pale. He wore a sleeveless olive green tunic with white leggings tucked into brown leather boots and a brown leather belt around his hips. The tunic had slits designed into it to make room for Eiríkur's large butterfly wings.

His wings had always been a source of fascination for Lukas. They were very large compared to Eiríkur's slim frame and of the richest shades of purple around. It started off a tinted white darkening to lilac the farther away from the faerie's shoulder blades they got. Lilac into amethyst, amethyst into mauve, mauve into violet, violet into indigo… by the tips it was a dark black that hinted of purple in direct sunlight. Through this blend of colours, patterns stuck out.

They were beautiful.

_Eiríkur_ was beautiful.

"Are you okay, Lukas?" and then the faerie was in front of his face, looking concerned.

"I-I am fine," Lukas stuttered out. "Just lost in thought."

Eiríkur looked like he didn't quite believe him, but let it go. "Okay."

The shouting from downstairs started up again, piercing through the happy, peaceful bubble Lukas had erected around himself. Eiríkur looked towards the door, startled. "Is that..?"

"Ja…can we please go somewhere else?"

Eiríkur flicked his eyes back to the door and then towards the window. He flew towards it and back outside into the late spring day. Lukas followed, pulling a chair from his desk to stand on to help him climb out. Small hands gripped the edges of the window sill and then Lukas leapt to grab onto the tree that grew just outside of his room. He quickly scrambled down it and landed in the slightly-too-long grass at its base.

Eiríkur landed on his shoulder. "Let's go to the clearing again, it's always peaceful there." He suggested.

Lukas nodded and crouched down as he went around the back of the house to avoid being seen by his parents through the windows. He quickly made it into the woods at the back of his house, straightening up and increasing his speed, leaving his family problems behind him.

The clearing was a small place about half a mile into the woods at the back of Lukas' house. It wasn't big or wide, instead it was small and cosy, bushes lining around the bottoms of trees and large wildflowers springing up everywhere. It was just very peaceful.

"So how have things been with you?" Lukas asked as boy and faerie entered the peaceful clearing.

"Quiet. Not much has been going on lately."

"Oh, okay."

Lukas glanced at Eiríkur from the corner of his eyes again. The warm feeling flooded his stomach and seemed to heat up his face as well. What was this feeling?

Lukas sat at the foot of a tall tree, leaning against the trunk. He pulled his knees up to just in front of his chest and wrapped his arms loosely around them. Eiríkur fluttered down to sit on his right knee.

The two sat in companionable silence, watching the world go by, although Lukas seemed to feel more and more uncomfortable as the minutes passed. The feeling was intensifying. It zipped through him, hot, fast, passionate and uncontrollable. It was making him notice stupid little things; like how Eiríkur's wings fluttered softly with the breeze, and how the sun shone off of his silver hair and smooth ivory skin, how his lilac eyes stared mesmerizingly into the bushes as they tracked the jerky flight of a nearby bee.

Suddenly, Eiríkur turned back around to face Lukas.

"Hey, Lukas…"

"Ja?"

"I want to try something." Eiríkur seemed uncomfortable, too. He was wringing his slim hands and glancing uncertainly into Lukas' blue eyes of unfathomable depths.

"O…kay?" Lukas waited expectantly for whatever it was that his friend wanted to try. Eiríkur stood up on took flight, hovering closer to Lukas' face. He then hesitantly drew closer Lukas' lips…

A tiny pair of pale pink lips pressed against Lukas' larger, plumper ones.

The feeling suddenly raged through Lukas' veins, making him gasp. Eiríkur quickly pulled away, but Lukas raised a hand against his back and the faerie collided with it, nearly falling but then Lukas cupped his palm so that Eiríkur only ended up sitting in it.

"What was that?" Lukas demanded, face red. It was an unneeded question; both of them knew what had happened. What made it so different was the _feeling_ that had gone alongside it. Was that what the feeling was? Lukas had spent many a night pondering on the strange sensation that occurred whenever he was around Eiríkur, or even when he just thought of him.

Was this love?

"A-a kiss." Eiríkur mumbled in answer to the posed question.

Was this the feeling that had left Lukas' parents?

"I-I liked it…" Lukas stuttered out, face going an even deeper red at the confession.

If it was, could they make it work?

Eiríkur's eyes widened and he left the cup of Lukas' palm, flying closer. He leant to push another kiss onto Lukas' lips. Deep blue eyes slid closed, enjoying the feeling, but knowing better than to kiss back, knowing he could hurt Eiríkur.

"You know…in the Seelie Court…there are some fae who have very powerful magic. Enough to turn humans into animals, animals into humans…or fae into humans, humans into fae." Eiríkur murmured.

Yes, they could make this work.

* * *

"Later, boss!" one of Lukas' employees called as he moved out of the door, waving over his shoulder before drawing his coat around himself tighter to ward off the winter chill. "See you tomorrow!"

The door shut and Lukas was left alone in the kitchen at the back of the restaurant his family owned. Most of the lights were off now, the ovens cooling and the smell of fresh food fading from the air. It was half an hour after closing time, and most of his workers had left by now after helping tidy up the place ready for tomorrow. But Lukas couldn't leave yet. _He _hadn't shown up, and wouldn't until Lukas was alone.

A light scuffling sound from outside. If Lukas hadn't been standing so close to one of the small windows, he wouldn't have heard it. The Norwegian opened the backdoor and placed a tray with some of the left-over food on the concrete step. He then backed back into the kitchen, pulled up a chair, and waited.

There was a moment when nothing happened. A still, silent moment. Then a figure hesitantly made its way from the darkness of the alleyway and into the semicircle of light provided by the lights of the kitchen shining through the open door. It moved jerkily, ready to run at the instant Lukas proved a threat to it. Lukas waited patiently and didn't move, didn't stare (although he observed from underneath his blond fringe, appearing more preoccupied with a slightly battered novel he had read many times before).

The figure darted forward to snatch some of the food on the plate and withdrew into the shadows. For that moment when the figure had been in the light, silver hair had gleamed brightly under the artificial lights illuminating the doorway.

The younger person had been coming to Lukas for food for over two years now. The street kid and Lukas had met when one was scavenging through the bins at the back of the restaurant one muggy summer night and the other going out with a rubbish bag to add to them. They had stared at each other for a while, before the silver haired almost skeletal boy had scampered off out of the alley in fear. Curiosity had made him come back. They kept seeing each other for brief moments before Lukas had stayed behind one night and set out some food.

They had a sort of agreement between them. Lukas would give the street kid (whose name he _still_ didn't know) some of the unwanted leftovers and it meant the other would actually have something to eat consistently. Lukas wasn't naïve, he knew that the younger's life was hard and that not everyone was as privileged as him. He had been born lucky, the other had clearly not.

Lukas wanted to help the other, desperately. He had somewhat come to know the younger, despite the two having never talked. A silent sense of companionship existed between them. Neither could describe it. They just felt…_drawn_ to the other. Like two magnets. They just seemed to keep running into each other, whatever the time or place. Lukas knew for sure that if he went out and wandered around the city, he was almost certain to see the street kid at some point. It had been disconcerting at first; their minds seeming to run on the same wavelength, but now it was just weirdly reassuring that someone would always be there- intentionally or not.

This was the night, Lukas had decided. It was a Sunday night; business in the restaurant would be slow for the next few days until Friday when it started to get busy again. He had already mentioned to someone at work that he hadn't been feeling well (a lie). Tomorrow, he would be able to call in 'sick' and stay at his house for a few days without doing any damage to the family business. Also, his parents were out of the country for the next two weeks on a holiday he had insisted they go on ("You work too hard," he had claimed. "You never get any breaks from work, either. What if you go on holiday for a while and relax?").

Lukas was slightly worried that the silver haired street urchin he had grown to be fond of would not want his help. But then again, he had often seen the boy (he couldn't be described as anything but a 'boy', he looked very young, small and thin. But that could just be the malnutrition talking. The boy might be as old as Lukas at nineteen, perhaps a couple of years younger) looking at him with slight envy, or felt his gaze on him as he ate freely and went into his own home.

Looking up from the printed words he was staring blankly at on the page in front of him, Lukas observed as the sleeping pill he had crushed and stirred into the sauce of the food the boy was eating now started to take effect. The boy was wobbling, malnutrition weakened body unable to fight off the drug for very long. He sank clumsily to his knees, both wincing when bare flesh hit the hard concrete.

Lukas started towards the younger boy, hurrying to his side. As he knelt down and wrapped his arms around the filthy kid to support him as he lost consciousness, the other glared up at him. Hurt and betrayal echoed in those unforgettable lilac eyes, staring accusingly up at Lukas. The message within them was clear.

_I trusted you._

Lukas felt guilt tug at his heart as the boy fell forward in his grip, far too light with his ribs pressing uncomfortably against Lukas' arms. Lukas picked him up easily, carrying the kid to his car. He securely put him in and did up his seatbelt. Then Lukas shut the door and went back to the backdoor of the restaurant, closing up and turning off the lights, shrugging his coat on and locking the door.

Lukas went back to his car and drove home, frequently glancing at the frail person in the passenger seat, who was sleeping deeply and had a peaceful expression on his face. It didn't feel like long before Lukas was pulling up into his driveway and parking his car in front of his modest house in a nice area of the city. He lived separate from his parents, but their house was only a few streets away and they often checked up on him. Lukas had often theorised his doting mother as having a bad case of empty-nest syndrome, with the amount that she visited, often bringing food (usually cakes or biscuits) she had made for him.

A slightly scary thought hit Lukas. If the kid accepted his help and stuck around, his mother would spoil him with many "Oh, isn't he cute, dear?" and "You should eat more, little one. You're looking very thin. Here, have some cookies."- the silver haired street child would be forcibly inducted into the family and then subjected to Lukas' mum's Mother Hen side. He would have felt sorry for him, if he didn't agree that he needed to gain some weight (and probably have someone help adjust him to 'normal' life, doing things like sleeping in beds and having showers and eating three meals a day).

Speaking of which, Lukas still hadn't thought about how he was going to tell his parents about the street waif he had just brought home with him. Oh well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Lukas exited his car, shutting the door on his side and moving around to the other side. He opened the door and unbelted his guest, lifting him up (again, Lukas frowned slightly at how light the boy was) and shutting the door. After locking the car, he turned and walked up to his own front door, glancing around to see if anyone was awake to watch him carry an unconscious teen into his house, then fumbling with his keys a bit and entering his darkened hallway.

Lukas shut and locked the front door behind him before making his way down the hall past the picture frames on the walls full of smiling family and friends, flicking on the light, and entering his living room. He lay the kid down on his sofa and turned to back into the hallway to hang up his coat and extracted his wallet and keys from his slacks to put in its pockets.

Moving back into the living room, Lukas sat on the opposite sofa to the one his 'guest' was sleeping on. A flicker of doubt lapped at his mind. What did he do now? Wait for the kid to wake up? Well, the sleeping pill he had used hadn't been very strong at all, and he'd only used half of it. It had only affected the boy so quickly because of his weakened body. Lukas checked the time on the clock on the wall. It was 11:34 p.m. About an hour had passed since he had given the boy the drugged food (the restaurant closed at ten), he should be waking up soon.

Lukas used his time waiting for the silver haired boy to wake up to study him. Being this close up and in proper light, he could see more of his features. First, despite his small size, he must only be about two years younger than Lukas. He was very thin; Lukas remembered the feel of his ribs through the ratty and dirty grey t-shirt the other was wearing (which was also too big). He wore clothes he had clearly scavenged from a dump- the grey t-shirt several sizes too big and a pair of shorts not going below his knees which had a large rip in one leg. His feet were bare and scraped.

A low groan escaped the boy's throat and he shuffled. Lukas' attention diverted back to the boy's face, onto the glassy eyes that were slowly opening. Awareness flooded back into the street child and he sat up abruptly, muscles tense and ready to run. Lukas caught his arm and pulled him back down onto the sofa, barely having to use his strength to keep the distraught boy down while Lukas knelt next to him and looked into those stunning lilac eyes that stared at him with fear.

"I am not going to hurt you." Lukas murmured, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles over the hand he had in his grip, his other pressing down against the boy's chest to keep him on the sofa. Fearful eyes locked onto his own.

"How do I know you won't?" The younger asked hoarsely, breaths shallow and sharp.

"We have known each other a long time, even if we have never spoken. You can feel it, too, cannot you? The pull. I have nothing to offer you but my word. I _promise_ that you will come to no harm."

Lilac eyes observed Lukas warily, but they detected no lie. It was true- both had felt the strange pull. Something inside the street child just screamed at him to trust the handsome blond that had been so much a part of his life since being thrown out of the house and onto the streets. Those mystical blue eyes enchanted him, their owner a source of hope that things would get better.

Guð, he didn't even know his name!

He slowly nodded to Lukas, but questioned, "Why am I here?"

Lukas was relieved that his guest had calmed down. "Because I would like to help you." He answered honestly, hoping that the street kid would pick up on this.

"But- why?" Eiríkur said, shocked. "I'm just a street kid you see a lot; you have everything you could want- friends, family, a home- why waste your time on _me?_"

"Because you are important to me. I do not know why, but we _are_ drawn to each other. I feel like I know you from somewhere, yet I am sure that before our first encounter two years ago, I had not seen you before at all. You cannot tell me that you cannot feel it as well."

Eiríkur could not contest this. "I- at least tell me your name."

The Norwegian was slightly surprised at the question but wasted no time answering, now that it appeared that the kid would accept his help. "Lukas Bondevík."

"…Eiríkur Steilsson."

Lukas moved his hands from where they had been pressing down on Eiríkur's chest, a tiny smile tugging at the edges of his lips. "A fine name." he commented. Pale cheeks tinged pink and Lukas chuckled under his breath.

"Come." Lukas beckoned, standing up. "The first thing you are getting in this house is a bath."

A laugh tore itself from Eiríkur's throat at the blunt change of subject, and he stood, following his friend through the house. The draw seemed stronger than ever, but it just felt so _right_. His heart was swelling in his chest, pulsing with warmth that rushed through his veins. Only Lukas could make him feel like this.

Things were looking up.

* * *

Pale moonlight filtered in through the partially open curtains, falling upon the small figure in the bed, bathing him in a silver glow. The curtains wavered gently in the soft breeze from the open window and their shadows danced over the peaceful face of the sleeping boy, caressing his smooth skin and brushing his downy hair as silver as the crescent moon hanging suspended in the inky sky.

Unseen by mortal eyes, an older male watched over his young charge, guarding his sleep. Blond hair partially pinned back with a golden cross and royal blue eyes surveyed the bedroom. A sleeveless white tunic falling down to just above the knees, a brown belt strapped around the hips, old style sandals with straps criss-crossed up the lower leg, brown leather bracers enclosing the forearms and a necklace with a metal cross on it was what the elder wore. A golden ring of light hovered over the head of fair hair. Most imposing about the man's appearance, though, were the giant white wings that swept from his shoulder blades, hanging majestically behind him as their feathers caught the light of the moon.

The Guardian Angel stood next to the window, keeping a lookout for any threat to his charge. Occasionally, though, his eyes would flick back to the sleeping child more than was strictly necessary to make sure the boy on the edge of being a teen was okay. The Angel couldn't understand it. Why did something about this particular charge call out to him more than any of his previous charges? What made this one so special that he kept the Angel's attention more than any other person- mortal or immortal- the Guardian had met in his long life?

Movement caught the Angel's eye. A man was walking out on the street, seen through the window. Nothing wrong there. Except that it was nearly three in the morning and the road his charge's family lived on was fairly out-of-the-way of the main streets of the town. The man couldn't be lost, then. And he was walking purposefully towards the front door of his charge's house. Lukas (the Angel) narrowed his eyes. A hand went to his belt where he kept his short sword (Lukas had three weapons- a short sword and a dagger for close combat and a bow and arrows for long range- they were needed to protect humans, whether from each other or from the evil forces of the Devil, the countless Demons and other malevolent spirits that Beelzebub had under his dark command).

The sound of the doorbell rang through the house. Eiríkur (Lukas' charge) didn't wake up. Sounds were heard from Eiríkur's parents' room further down the landing. The light switched on and the sound of feet going down the stairs reached Lukas' ears. His charge shuffled and rolled over, facing away from the window, but did not wake.

Harsh whispering.

"What are you doing here? I told you, I want no more to do with you lot!"

"I came to collect the debt you owe us. Hand it over."

"I owe you nothing! It was all paid back years ago!"

"You forgot one thing. Your dealings with us are never over. You know too much, if you continue refusing to co-operate, then we must ensure your silence."

"What? You're crazy if you think I'm going to uproot my life to deal with you lot again. And I owe you no debt!"

"The debt you owe us is your services, not money. Your life could get better if you agree. Shortened if you don't. Do you still say 'no'?"

"I'm never going back to you!"

"…very well."

A gunshot pierced the night. Lukas fingers gripped the handle of his sword and Eiríkur was jolted awake. A thump from downstairs- a body hitting the floor? Heavy footsteps up the stairs and it struck Lukas that Eiríkur's room was directly across from the top of the curved staircase. Eiríkur sat up in bed, tiny hands gripping the blankets and pulled up to his chest, staring at the door in fearful confusion. Out in the street, lights were turning on.

The handle was yanked sharply downwards and the door burst open, a menacing silhouette loomed in the doorway, light from the landing darkening the features of the man, but glinting on the metal of the gun in his hand. It could have been a scene straight from a nightmare. Lilac eyes stared fearfully at the man from the bed, the childhood feeling that one's room was the safest place on Earth shattering into irreparable pieces around Eiríkur.

The man grunted, but raised the gun again. Lukas leapt forward to protect his charge, hand flying out to aim the gun away from the boy on the bed. Surprise flicked onto the man's face as his hand was knocked sideways by an unseen force, changing the direction of-

-the bullet smashed through the metal of the old boiler in the corner of Eiríkur's room that the family had been meaning to get removed. No water had been feeding into the boiler for quite some time, but it had remained on and was very hot. The family had put boxes around that section of the room and told Eiríkur not to go near it. The bullet smashed through the boiler and into the old water container behind it, spilling the stagnant liquid onto the super-heated metal.

The water boiled instantly on contact, the pressure of the uncontained steam rose fast and a violent explosion ripped through the house. Lukas, with the supernatural speed and grace of all Angels, had watched the bullet fly through the air in slow motion, then had turned his back on the human in the doorway and pushed his charge down on his bed, curling around him and caging him with his wide wings to protect the child from the blast.

A miracle was what the papers called it later. Everyone in the house was dead except for one little boy who was miraculously unscathed. The house itself was nothing but a smoking ruin by the time the police and the firefighters got there, but on the ground there was one unconscious, but perfectly healthy, pre-teen.

Things from there were normal, bar one thing. Eiríkur gave a shaky statement on what he had seen, the police investigated, the neighbours gossiped. The media soon found new stories to report and the orphan Eiríkur Steilsson was all but forgotten. Then came the question of what to do with him. At that, a young man, barely into adulthood, came forward.

He claimed to be Eiríkur's half-brother, the product of an affair the husband had had some years before Eiríkur was conceived. His younger brother hadn't known he had existed, but he would be willing to take him in.

Blood tests and legal papers confirmed his story, and the social workers were glad to have the silver-haired boy off their hands. They handed him over to the blond haired, blue eyed young man called Lukas Bondevík and forgot all about them.

Eiríkur hesitantly took the hand of the older teen who was his 'brother'. Kind eyes shone down from a cold face. Recognition flooded the Icelandic boy's mind, pulling up memories of that horrible night and the feeling of a warm glow and safety and arms holding him and feathers brushing his skin as they protected him-

"It was you." Eiríkur whispered. And for a moment the shadow of imposing wings and a ring of light flashed in front of him, replacing the image of Lukas.

A secretive smile.

"…þakka þér."

Lukas knelt down and pressed a soft kiss to Eiríkur's forehead.

"Anything for you."

* * *

Lukas stoically followed his exuberant parents into their new house. Both his mother and father had been ecstatic at finding their 'dream home' in Iceland. Lukas had not been so happy. His parents had told him, without so much as a by-your-leave, that he would have to uproot his life, leave all of his friends behind and move to another country. Lukas knew his parents could be…impulsive…but they had never done something this crazy before!

Looking up at the large house, with its grand size, arched windows and a giant door with great metal studs in it, Lukas could admit that the place itself was very beautiful (in a distinctly two-hundred-years-outdated sort of way). It reminded Lukas of a manor house that should belong to a rich family. But the Bondevíks had gotten it fairly cheap.

Lukas adjusted his heavy duffle bag so that it wasn't cutting into his shoulder. His parents were chatting loudly behind him at their car, pulling their belonging out. Apparently all of the furniture was left inside the house. They had had to only bring their personal possessions. The Norwegian teen looked up at one of the upper windows of the house.

A pale face stared back at him.

The skin on Lukas' arms rose into goose bumps and a shiver went down his spine as he looked into the pale face in the window, its features distorted by the distance and the glass. His heart pounding in his ears, Lukas felt that he couldn't look away. The face commanded all of his attention. As if from a great distance, the voices of his oblivious parents reached him, muffled as though Lukas was submerged in water.

He blinked.

The face was gone.

Lukas glanced around at his chattering parents, scanned all of the other windows and then his eyes landed on that one window again. Nobody was there. Had he imagined it? No…he was certain that he had seen someone there…

A ghost? That would explain why the place was so cheap…and why the previous owner had been in such a hurry to leave…

"Come on, Lukas! We're going inside. You can choose your own room!" his mother called as she stood behind his father who was fiddling with a large brass key. Lukas walked up to stand behind them. His father opened the door, which, contrastingly to the old appearance of the house and Lukas' recent experience with an apparent 'ghost', did not creak ominously.

The family of three walked down the long hallway, Lukas eyeing the paintings and portraits lined along the walls and the unlit, half-melted candles enclosed in metal brackets and holdings. The house had a very homey feel to it. None of the doors creaked, the eyes on the portraits didn't follow you, and there were no suspicious stains or cobwebs…

Instead, there were large windows allowing lots of light into the rooms, tasteful interior décor, large fireplaces fully stocked with wood and coal in most rooms and the furniture was very comfortable (Lukas knew this because his mother had sat on one of the sofas in what appeared to be a small living room and gushed over its comfortableness for the next three rooms).

By the time they got to the bedrooms (the manor- Lukas had definitely decided it was a manor- had four floors- four! And a cellar (but they hadn't gotten to that yet). The place was huge, ridiculously so), Lukas was getting tired of carrying his heavy bag around. It was a relief when his mother turned to him and said, "Now, go choose your room. Any room but the master bedroom at the very end, that's ours."

Lukas had over twelve rooms to choose from, spread out over the fourth floor and a couple on the third (those must have been for servants or maids, the Norwegian boy had thought as they peeked into them). Wanting to have some privacy from his parents, the teen chose one several doors down from them, partway down the corridor but not right next to the stairs.

The room was fairly large, larger than the one he had had back in Norway. A big double bed with thick blankets layered over the duvet and fluffy pillows sat with the headboard against the wall. Opposite, another fire place. Large windows with high curtains took up most of one wall, but Lukas was pleased to see that it had a wide window sill and a sofa with no back under it, pushed against the wall. The perfect place to do reading or drawing. On the wall with the door, a big wardrobe and a chest of drawers with a mirror hung on the wall above it.

Bedside tables with modern lamps clearly put there by the last owner but with their shades designed to fit in with the old décor of the rest of the room (the one on the ceiling was the same). A desk and chair were next to the bed on the side of the window. Another door on the wall with the fireplace led off to an on-suite bathroom, the only real modern area of the room.

Lukas dumped his bag unceremoniously on the bed, glad to have its weight off his shoulder. He sat down on the edge, feeling the soft mattress sink under his weight. The reality suddenly hit him. He was here to stay. His parents would begin their new jobs in town next week. Lukas hadn't realised that he had been hoping this was all some kind of dream, or not real. That they would turn back and go home to Norway. That it was all just a stupid joke and somebody would jump out from somewhere and shout 'fooled you!' Lukas would have welcomed it, however embarrassing.

But their house in Norway was already sold. He had already moved schools. He had already exchanged phone numbers with friends and promised to call often. No going back. This was his life now.

No…no! Lukas felt a stinging in his eyes. No. He was not going to cry. Absolutely not. But he could already feel a treacherous tear burning in the corner of his eye, blurring his vision. Lukas lay back, horizontally across the large double bed. He covered his face with his hands, turning onto his side and curling up. It…it wasn't _fair_. He wanted his parents to be happy. And here, they were. But…he wasn't.

Their happiness at the cost of his own. They probably didn't even know how upset he was with them. Lukas didn't express emotions easily. It wasn't just that he didn't want to let people know what he was thinking and feeling, it had got to the point where he wasn't even sure if he could express emotions in public. On his own, he was fine. But around other people and he couldn't do it. Psychologists probably had a name for this sort of mental block, but Lukas didn't particularly care.

Lukas could feel his mind getting slower, hazier. He was slipping into a light doze, brought on by his pent up emotions that he was unable to express because in the busyness of the move he hadn't had any time alone. Distantly, he could hear his parents unpacking down the hall. But closer…

Someone was humming. He could sense them lying next to him on the bed. Their hand was running through his hair, stroking with very light touches. Lukas tried to look. Tried to open his sharp blue eyes. But then he was pulled under into the quietness of sleep, hands going slack and laying half curled in front of his face on the bed.

Eiríkur Steilsson (born 17th June 1812, died 14th November 1827) looked down at the teen lying across his bed. He had seen the family come in through the window, and knew that the boy had seen him. Felt, in the way that only spirits could, the happiness of the adults and the misery of the teen. He had been prepared to chase them away. Scare them into moving like he had so many people before them.

But this time something was different. Something about the teen in front of him had stopped him. What was it? The ghost didn't know. But he wanted them to stay. Stay in the house he had lived and died in. Stay in the home that had belonged to his family for centuries. Or…he wanted the teen to stay.

_Lukas…_

He had heard the mother call her son that. The name sparked something in him. Tugged at his mind like a memory he couldn't quite pull up. A name he knew but couldn't quite place. Eiríkur had never known someone called 'Lukas', in life or in death. But he knew this one. Not certainly. Not exactly. But he knew him. And he also knew, as sure as he knew where his rotting body was buried out in the grounds by the hill where the Mountain Avens grew, that he wanted Lukas to stay.

With him.

Forever.

Lukas couldn't leave. Ever. This blond haired, blue eyed beauty would stay with him always. So Eiríkur could run his ghostly hands across that smooth pale skin, look into those blue eyes with his own lilac ones and see the tantalising emotion in them that Lukas would display only to him, so he could claim those pink lips with his paler ones…

Eiríkur looked down at Lukas, lilac eyes filled with an emotion he did not yet recognise. An old emotion. But still felt as strongly and passionately as it had been felt in lifetimes before. Eiríkur pressed a kiss to Lukas' cheek, watching with a thrill as Lukas unconsciously moved closer to his half-transparent and optionally intangible presence. His hand stroked through Lukas' hair as he gazed upon the Norwegian possessively.

For the first time since his death, Eiríkur felt alive.

* * *

The patch of sun Lukas was lying curled-up in was really very warm. The small cat with sandy coloured fur, a floating curl and large blue eyes was drifting between dozing and being completely asleep. He had curled up on the window sill where his owner had considerately placed a large cushion several hours ago. He vaguely recalled that sometime after he had commandeered the window he had distantly heard his owner leave the house, slamming the front door behind her.

Oh well, it wasn't his business. She would be back soon, anyway.

The sun was obscured by a cloud.

The sudden coolness of his previously warm spot awoke the cat properly. Grumbling inside his mind, Lukas made to roll over, when his sharp ears pricked up at the sound of an approaching car. He continued his roll, but stood up at the end of it, stretching thoroughly and yawning, his pointed teeth flashing. He shook himself off, the gold cross hanging from his red collar jangling, and sat down elegantly, poised and waiting for his owner to return.

The sound of an engine stopping. Keys being removed. The car door opening. The sound of an object being moved across the leather seats and picked up..? Probably her bag, Lukas decided. The car door slamming shut. The beeps of the car being locked. Footsteps up the garden path. Jingle of keys. Unlocking of door.

"Lukas, I'm home!"

She was back. Lukas meowed softly in greeting (it was always best to be polite to the one you relied on for food and a roof over your head). The young woman entered the room, shrugging off her coat and placing it haphazardly in a pile on one side of the sofa. Lukas nearly rolled his eyes at his owner's inherent laziness. She didn't have tolerance for messes, but she did have the habit of leaving things for later- whether 'later' was hours or days from then she didn't care. The coat would probably lie there all day and night before she would pick it up to put on tomorrow.

"I have someone I want you to meet, Lukas. He's come a long way and will be living with us from now on." His owner always spoke to him. Maybe it was a side effect of living a fairly reclusive life and working from home, but because she didn't have many friends she often talked to her pet cat instead. Lukas would be the first to admit that he was probably quite spoiled by her, but that didn't mean he was a brat. He had been a Rescue Shelter cat before she had adopted him, and knew what it was like to live on barely anything. He was thankful every day for getting such a kind owner.

His owner turned and picked up something she had put down in the hallway, just out of sight. It was the dreaded thing. The object all cats hated with a vengeance. The terrible Pet Carrier.

Lukas tensed, his fur standing on end. She wasn't going to put him in it, was she? But no, there was something already inside it. No, not something. Someone.

His owner opened the door and a smaller cat walked out, hanging its head shyly and remaining near the carrier. Its fur was white in colour, although it appeared on the edge of silver. It was even smaller than Lukas' slim frame, making it nearly petite. Lukas couldn't see the colour of the cat's eyes.

"Isn't he cute?" Lukas' owner cooed. "He'll be part of this family from now on. It's like you'll be having a little brother!"

The white cat's ears flicked back and he seemed to curl in on himself. Lukas' owner pulled a strip of dark blue cloth with a white and red stripe through it out of her pocket, tying it around the neck of the new cat with a bow at the front. "Now he looks like the perfect little gentleman. His name is Eiríkur. Now get along, kitties, I have to go back out."

Lukas', and now Eiríkur's, owner picked herself up off the floor and grabbed her coat, exiting the room and then the house. Both cats heard the car start up again and drive off. Lukas observed the new cat from his higher perch. He had never thought that his owner would get another cat, but he wasn't really complaining. The new cat was _adorable_.

Lukas leapt down from the window sill, landing a couple of feet away from Eiríkur. The white cat (nearly the size of a kitten, really) looked up, startled. Large lilac eyes nearly stopped Lukas' heart. Those eyes struck a chord in him, something that screamed he _knew _those eyes. The sandy coloured cat padded closer, until he was nose to nose with the little bundle of white fur with large lilac eyes that caught the hearts of anyone who saw them.

Without any warning, Lukas struck. He moved to the side and twisted his head, grabbing the back of Eiríkur's neck with his teeth, like all mother-cats do to carry around their kittens. Following this, he picked up the white cat and carried him out of the room.

"Hey-! What are doing?" came the protest from Eiríkur, unsure as to why his new 'brother' was treating him like this. Lukas ignored him and carried Eiríkur up the stairs, heading towards the spare bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and Lukas pushed his way in. He jumped onto the bed and let his 'lillebror' go. Eiríkur quickly withdrew a couple of feet away from him.

"What was that for?" the white cat nearly shouted. Lukas shrugged (as much as a feline can shrug). Eiríkur glared at the nonchalant answer, but it didn't quite work. It just made him look cuter.

A smirk lifted the corner of Lukas' mouth and he pounced. He and Eiríkur tussled on the bed, the match becoming a play-fight. After several minutes, they both stopped, exhausted. They lay there, side by side. Confusion lapped at both their minds. Why did this feel so _right?_

When Lukas had gotten his breath back, he rolled over to Eiríkur, lying half on top of him. When no protest came from the cat beneath him, Lukas took this as an invitation to start cleaning Eiríkur up. He gently licked at the smaller cat's ears, moving across the top of his head, down his neck and shoulders. Eiríkur shuddered under him, then flinched, embarrassed. Lukas slowly started to lick around Eiríkur's face, purposefully going slow, teasing around the white cat's furry cheeks and 'accidently' brushing the sensitive whiskers.

When a mewl escaped Eiríkur's throat, he stopped. There was a whine of disappointment and then a very self-conscious Eiríkur looked into Lukas' eyes, mortified and embarrassed, as his sense returned to him. Lukas smirked, and then blew his warm breath over Eiríkur's face, intentionally angling it so that the brunt of it hit the whiskers. Eiríkur shuddered again and Lukas leant down to push his nose against the silver cat's little wet pink one, rubbing gently.

"Welcome to the family." He murmured, nipping Eiríkur's ear teasingly.

Eiríkur looked into those protective blue eyes, and smiled.

* * *

"**Eiríkur!**"

The young Icelandic teen heard his father calling from downstairs. Well, he wasn't really his father. Not biological, anyway.

He sighed. Put down his book. He had been adopted by this family several years ago, when he had been fostered by them. They had liked him so much that they had decided to adopt him. They still fostered, however, and today another teen was arriving to stay with them. He would probably be gone in another few months, moved on again.

Eiríkur went downstairs, ready to meet his new (temporary) 'bróðir' or 'systir'. There was another teenage boy standing in the doorway with a social worker behind him. 'Bróðir', then. He looked only a couple of years older than Eiríkur's thirteen, with blond hair and blue eyes. While the adults chatted, Eiríkur's and the new teen's eyes had found each other. The feeling that had shot through the Icelandic boy at that moment when blue had met lilac was indescribable. All-encompassing. Heady. Nostalgic. World shaking.

By the minute widening of enigmatic ocean blue eyes, Eiríkur knew that the other teen had felt it, too. The Icelandic teen descended the last few steps, the other boy approaching him also. There was something in the air, an electrified, anticipation of some kind. Eiríkur opened his mouth to speak-

"**Well, why don't you both come in and have lunch with us? Lukas can sit with Eiríkur in the living room because there is only room for four at our table, which also gives the boys a chance to get to know each other.**" Eiríkur's mother interrupted the moment, smiling at everyone. The adult moved to the dining room and Eiríkur went to shut the front door, then walked into the living room with the new guy (Lukas, wasn't it?) following.

The two sat down on the sofa awkwardly. The sound of the adults talking in the kitchen and pots clattering as Eiríkur's mother set about cooking echoed through the walls and door. Eiríkur cleared his throat awkwardly.

"**So, um, Lukas, is it?**"

Lukas frowned in confusion, then self-consciously pulled out a notepad, scrawling down in English:

_I am sorry, but I do not understand Icelandic._

Oh. Eiríkur quickly asked again, this time in English.

_Ja, my name is Lukas. Bondevík is my family name._

"Eiríkur Steilsson." The Icelander introduced himself, wondering why Lukas had not just spoken to him instead of writing things down. "So…are you British or something?"

_Nei, I am Norwegian. But I do not know Icelandic and I assume that you do not know Norwegian. English is our common language._

"Okay…but, and I mean no offense, but why don't you speak?"

Lukas paused, and for a second Eiríkur thought that he had treaded on a nerve and the Norwegian teen wasn't going to answer. But then Lukas unwrapped his scarf and tilted his head back. Eiríkur's eyes widened and he could help the gasp that escaped his throat as his hand unconsciously rose to trace the set of pale white scars around Lukas' neck.

"You- you're mute?"

Lukas just nodded, rewrapping the scarf and fiddling with the pen in his hands. Eiríkur let his hands fall back to his lap and they sat there in silence for a while. The social worker came into the room.

"Okay, Lukas. I'm going to leave you here with this family. Stay out of trouble."

Lukas answered the social worker, but instead of writing down his response he made actions with his hands for several seconds. Sign Language, Eiríkur thought, after a moment of watching. He didn't know Sign Language. Lukas would hate it here, around a family that didn't understand him. This made Eiríkur feel stricken, he didn't want Lukas to hate it here.

The social worker left soon after. Lukas and Eiríkur moved to the kitchen where their lunch was waiting on the side. "Come on, let's go up to my room." Eiríkur murmured, dodging around his guardians and ascending the stairs, Lukas right behind him.

They ended up in Eiríkur's room, sitting cross-legged on his bed with their plates in front of him. Unsure of himself, Eiríkur tried to start up the conversation again.

"So…uh, do you know how long you'll be staying?"

The paper pad came out again.

_Around four months, I think. Then I will be moved back to Norge. _

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but how did you…become mute?"

_In the car crash where my parents died. That was four years ago._

"Oh…um…I'm sorry."

Then another question sprang to mind, something he had noticed in the exchange between Lukas and the social worker.

"How many languages do you know? The social worker talked to you in English but she was Icelandic and you answered her in Sign Language…"

_I know English and Norwegian as well as Norwegian Sign Language and British Sign Language. The social worker knows British Sign Language so I could communicate with her. I do not know Icelandic or Icelandic Sign Language. _

"Okay. That's…clever." And it was. Lukas knew, essentially, four different languages. The conversation ended there, both teens turning to their cooling lunches. Four months suddenly seemed far too short.

And they were. The time flew by far too quickly. Eiríkur had connected with Lukas unlike any other person his parents had fostered. Then the day came when all of Lukas' bags were packed, and they were standing out in the front garden, waiting for Lukas to be taken away.

_It's not fair_, Eiríkur thought. _Why does Lukas have to go?_

The car with the social worker had just arrived. Lukas' bags were packed into the boot of the car. It was time to say goodbye.

Lukas allowed Eiríkur's parents to embrace him, carefully hugging back. Then he hugged Eiríkur tight with all of the fiery love the boy everyone said possessed a heart of ice had within him for the younger boy. He nuzzled the side of Eiríkur's face and placed a kiss on his cheek, unable to do more with the adults watching.

As Lukas reluctantly turned away, walking a few steps towards the car come to take him back to Norway, Eiríkur called out.

"Lukas!"

The Norwegian stopped, turned back to his little love. Eiríkur, hesitantly, hopefully, started to sign.

He signed in Norwegian Sign Language, his small hands fluttering as they formed the important message. Lukas' eyes widened, lit up in joy and a deep, deep love. He smiled, the most beautiful smile in the world to Eiríkur, and mouthed the words back.

In the car, on the way to the airport, Lukas played the scene over and over again in his head. Engraving it into memory. He silently swore that he would come back to re-join the silver haired beauty waiting for him on Iceland's shores.

When he slept that night, the sight of Eiríkur's hands spelling out _'jeg elsker deg' _haunted his dreams.

* * *

Iceland lay sprawled across Norway's sofa, drifting between sleeping and waking. His head was in Norway's lap, his hair being stroked by his older brother. It was late afternoon, turning into early evening. Outside, the blue sky was bleeding into reds and pinks and yellows as the sun was slowly setting.

"Think of how much time it took for us to get to here." Norway interrupted his lazy sinking into sleep. Iceland blinked, now wide awake.

"Huh?"

"It has been a long journey for us to get to here, has it not?" Norway repeated, twirling one of the strands of silver hair he was holding around his slim fingers. "All those past lives, being drawn together again and again by that spell I cast."

"Oh, já. This is our, what, tenth?"

"Ja."

"Hey, remember when we were both cats? That was a weird life. I'll never get over that incident with you, that bird and the garden pond. It was so funny!" Iceland laughed at the put-off look on Norway's face, clearly remembering his embarrassment, too. But his laughter proved contagious (as most laughter is) and soon Norway was chuckling under his breath as well.

"What about when you were a faerie? Or when you were a ghost? In those lives I was perfectly human." Norway mused, thinking about the strange relationships they'd had when one of the pair wasn't human.

Iceland frowned playfully, "What about when you were that Guardian Angel? If we hadn't started our relationship until I got older, that could have been paedophilia!"

Norway looked affronted. "But it was not. We waited until you were seventeen before actually starting it properly. What about your creepy possessiveness when you were a ghost?"

"I was the older of us two in that life! I wanted my chance to be more dominant for once." Iceland pouted teasingly, reaching his hands up to stroke Norway's face, tracing his lips in a clear invitation. Norway pulled Iceland up so that the younger was sitting in his lap, before claiming Iceland's lips in a heated kiss. The island whined when Norway pulled away.

"Wonder why we only remembered our past lives in this life?" Iceland hummed thoughtfully.

"It is probably to do with the fact that in this life we are virtually immortal. We can only die if our country is dissolved and our people do not identify with us anymore."

"I knew you'd have a theory. Stupid smart people."

"And that is an oxymoron."

"Stop talking, Noregur."

"Oh? Is that a command?"

"Já, it means your bedroom is really very inviting today, _stóri bróðir._"

"Well in that case, lillebror, I will do as you please."

Norway scooped up Iceland, carrying him upstairs. Now was not the time to worry about past lives. Now was Now. The Past was the Past. And Now was Iceland peppering kisses all over Norway's bare chest as they fell back onto the bed, leaving the shirt forgotten on the floor.

Now, in Norway's opinion, was pretty alright.

* * *

**I'M SO SORRY! I cannot describe how sorry I am for not getting this up sooner. I actually do have an explanation. Remember all those exams I was complaining about a couple of chapters ago? They all sneaked up behind me and then jumped me, comandeering my life for several weeks. Then I had a horrible mix of not much free time, tiredness when I did, sickness for a few days and a bit of minor Writer's Block. Sorry, again.**

**On a happier note, I hope you all had a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. To those that those wishes apply to at least. To those who don't, I hope you all had a happy 24th and 25th of December and 31st of December and 1st of January. Thank you for hanging in with me this long.**

**A big thank you to Blood on the Sakuras, love-heart-heart, AimIsTalking, Guest, Alonis, JustMakeLeftTurns and animeduchess14 for reviewing since I posted my last chapter; xArchivex, love-heart-heart, littleshadows, animeduchess14, QueenOfThePolarBears, Hunter Avalon, Blood on the Sakuras, Harrison642, OrangeyPie and Painting Politics and Poland for favouriting and 1sarahsmiley, JustAnotherPervert, LeoVargas, QueenOfThePolarBears, animeduchess14, hetalia is LOVE, love-heart-heart and nightwhisperofshadows for following.**

**Just to let you all know, I have made some changes to the previous chapters. There is more Icelandic and Norwegian in their dialogue. I promise, I did restrain myself. It's all fairly simple, mostly single words and phrases. I also cross-referenced all of it, so it should be accurate. If it's not, can somebody please send me a PM so I can change it? I spent quite a while trying to get all of the chapters up to scratch, so please have a quick look, thanks.**

**Right, so onto this installment. The concept is pretty simple, you probably got it around three lives in. Norway has cast a spell after the apocalypse so that he and Iceland will continue being reborn and meeting each other. In the second life, it is in a school setting and Iceland is the new kid. By the way, Norway smokes in this as a representation of all that has gone wrong in his friendship with Denmark. You know, peer pressue and trying to fit in. He stops after he meets Iceland.**

**The next one is Assassin!Norway and Bartender!Iceland with some GangLeader!Russia thrown in on the side. I loved coming up with the concept of The Bad Hand, who knows, I might even revisit it. The fourth life was Young!Norway and Faerie!Iceland, for those who don't know, the Seelie Court (and the Unseelie Court) are Scottish folklore- you can look at Wikipedia for more information.**

**In the fifth life we have a StreetKid!Iceland. This one was the hardest to write out. I spent days on it and I'm still not completely happy with it. I made Lukas' family very friendly, his mother is somewhat based off of Molly Weasley from Harry Potter. Sixth life and we have Young!Iceland and GuardianAngel!Norway. Because Norway would make an awesome Guardian Angel. The seventh life has Ghost!Iceland haunting the house/manor/thing Norway's family has just moved into. This was also the one life where Iceland is more dominant in the relationship.**

**In the eighth life, we have Cat!Norway and Cat!Iceland. I didn't use the Nekotalia designs, instead replacing them with my own. Awkwardly, it also happens to be the most graphic life in the whole chapter. Up next is number nine, and there is Mute!Norway. In this, Iceland is thirteen and Norway is fifteen. You can be rest assured that Norway comes back to claim Iceland as his own.**

**Last life is when they're Nations. They reflect on past lives and focus on the Now. Suggestive material, maybe, but more lighthearted than the rest.**

**I'll leave you here. Sorry again for taking so long. Happy New Year!**

**Read and Review, please!**

**~Variegata~**


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